Sister of Krytpon
by TehMarishal
Summary: Five months after the defeat of Zod and his forces, a young woman stumbles across a small piece of Kryptonian technology that will change her life forever. Will she be able to adapt? Can Superman help her? Co-written in part with Wolfies' Productions, now co-authored with The Patriette. Clark/Lois romance, no OC romance. ON TEMPORARY HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I would like to thank Wolfies Productions for helping me get this story and idea off the ground, and for helping me write a heavy portion of it. I'd also like to thank robo-pie and Lady-Warrioress for writing a small portion with me. Furthermore, I'd like to thank The Patriette for being my editor and for encouraging me to continue with the idea, otherwise this would probably still be sitting somewhere untouched. Please, please read and review!

For Nancy Jones, it seemed that it would be another average day. At least, it should have been.

Her day technically began at the sound of her clock radio beeping rather loudly near her head. This caused her to groan and attempt to bury her head against her pillow, as the alarm continued to chirp and chime as if in protest of being ignored.

Finally, her arm struck out from beneath her covers like an angry snake, slapping the clock so that it fell in the trash bin beside her dresser. Ironically, that finally got it to shut up.

"Ugh…" Nancy shifted under her covers, once again trying to get comfortable. She hated that alarm clock. It always meant that she needed to crawl out of her nice cozy cocoon and venture out, because there was somewhere she needed to be.

Somewhere she needed to be…

Her eyes flew wide. She threw aside the covers and sat up, pawing through the trash to get her clock back out. 8:30AM?! Holy crow, she only had an hour to get ready and to get to her job interview!

Cursing under her breath, she leaped out of her bed and hurried to the closet. In a hurried motion she looked through every clothing article that hung in her closet (trying to ignore the pile of dirty clothes on the floor, which she'd failed to put in the laundry hamper) and grabbed a decent-looking black sweater and blue jeans.

Next she hurried to the bathroom, only to find her sister hogging it. "Rachel!" She banged on the door. "Hurry up! I need to get in there!"

Nancy didn't quite hear the muffled reply. She rolled her eyes, mentally envisioning Rachel blow-drying her hair while simultaneously brushing her teeth. "Rachel, come on! I need to get ready go out soon!"

The lock clicked and the door opened. "Come in," Rachel answered in annoyance, though the words were barely coherent due to the presence of the toothbrush in her mouth. Bluish white paste around her lips made it clear she had been interrupted, and that she liked to use too much of it.

That, along with the tangled locks of frizzy black hair, made her look like a rabid ape.

Nancy didn't bother to comment on her sister's appearance, instead rushing in to change out of her pajamas and put on her better clothes. She then took a moment to brush her hair, wash her face, and then put her hair back in a snug ponytail.

As she finished tidying up and took a moment to glance at her sister, she once again marveled at how similar she and Rachel looked. Nancy was the oldest sibling in the house, having turned exactly nineteen three weeks ago. Rachel was sixteen and a half, and their brother James was barely seven.

Both of the girls had taken after their mother in appearance, with slender figures, oval-shaped faced and hawk-like noses, complete with wavy black hair and brown eyes. However, Rachel had her own personality, it seemed; she loved to go to parties, she liked to wear makeup, and she enjoyed chasing after cute guys.

Nancy was the opposite. Bookish, enjoyed playing video games with her little brother (and wouldn't tell their parents that they had even played some M-rated ones together) and enjoyed bike-riding and walking more than going to parties or trying to get the attention of guys.

"Nancy, try some of this." Rachel held out a lipstick to her sister.

Nancy shook her head. "No, thanks. I don't want that goop on my face."

Rachel stuck out her lower lip. "Come on, you wanna look good for your job interview, don't you?"

"I'm just fine the way I am."

Rachel shrugged. "Have it your way." She leaned closer to the mirror, opening her mouth and puckering slightly as she applied the bright, pink substance.

Nancy rolled her eyes and walked out of the bathroom. Knowing her sister, she would probably be in there for at least another twenty minutes applying the makeup. Nancy entered her bedroom to grab her purse, double-checked to make sure everything was in it, then she nodded in satisfaction.

She hurried down the stairs, hearing the soft whistle of a teakettle as she passed the kitchen. No doubt Mom was busy making breakfast.

"Nancy!"

Nancy paused. "Yeah, Mom?"

"You aren't going to leave without eating breakfast, are you?"

"Mom, I'll miss the bus if I don't leave now!"

"I'll call you a cab. You know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Melanie Jones chided gently.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Fine, but only a quick breakfast," she insisted. It was times like these when she wasn't sure whether she wanted to be annoyed or grateful to her mother. Indeed, usually if Nancy didn't eat something in the morning, she felt terrible later on. Nevertheless, there was a small part of her that wanted to believe she had outgrown the need to be catered to in this way.

The aroma of toasted bread and scrambled eggs were greeted by a growl of her stomach. Nancy found herself sitting at the table without any complaint after that.

"Where's Dad?" Nancy asked as she stuffed her face full of eggs.

Melanie gave her a chiding glance. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Mom," Nancy said in annoyance, "could you stop talking to me like I'm six? I'm a woman now."

"Then act like it," her mother said. "Yesterday I caught you wiping your mouth on your sleeve." She gave her oldest daughter a meaningful glance, handing her a napkin. "And don't roll your eyes at me."

Nancy shook her head slightly, taking a sip of tea. "I know what this is about," she said. "You're trying to keep me as your kid one more day, in case I get a job."

"You will always be my little girl," Melanie said warmly, her eyes twinkling. "Every time I look at you, I will always remember that first day I held you in my arms. So little, yet you could scream like a banshee…"

"Mooommm…" Nancy practically groaned. "Please, we already went over this when we looked at the family album yesterday." She tilted her head to one side. "That's the only reason you're so nostalgic this morning."

"That, and you've grown up so much so quickly. It won't be long before your sister turns eighteen."

"A year and a half from now. She's got a calendar on her wall, counting down the days."

"Both of my girls have been growing up so fast."

"Yeah, I guess." Nancy finished polishing off her breakfast, then she gave her mother a meaningful look. "I just hope you and Dad aren't disappointed that I haven't gone to college or anything."

Melanie shook her head. "Your future is up to you, Hon. Whatever you do, wherever you end up, I know you will make your father and I proud."

Nancy smiled, grateful for her words. "I guess I always thought you guys would think I was a failure, if I didn't go to college right away or get a job right after I turned eighteen. I mean… I know Grandma thinks I've been just hanging around like a bum."

Now it was Melanie's turn to roll her eyes. "I keep telling my mother that I wished she had allowed me the time and space to figure myself out before I went to college and tried to get work." She got that distant, thoughtful gleam in her eye as she sipped her coffee. "It's because of her pressuring me that I chose a curriculum I hated, and a job that I was no good at. It's just a very good thing I met your father when I did, because I got an even better job."

"What was that?" Nancy asked, puzzled. As far as she knew, her Mom had remained unemployed after getting married.

Melanie grinned. "I got to be a wife and mother, raising the three most wonderful children in the world."

Mother and daughter found themselves exchanging affectionate glances, where words simply weren't necessary.

"Well," Melanie finally said, stirring. "You should get going or you'll be late. Dad had to leave early for the office this morning, but he'll be back this afternoon."

"Okay." Nancy collected the dishes and put them by the sink. Just as she turned back to her mother, she found herself being swept into a tight hug.

"Oh, my baby…" Melanie sniffed.

"Mooommm," Nancy groaned again, even if she did return the hug. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay. You go out there and get that job," Melanie grinned, blinking back tears. The last time she had acted like this was at Nancy's high school graduation ceremony. "I'll call you a cab, it should be here shortly."

"I will, and thanks," Nancy said with a confident grin, and she headed out of the kitchen.

She passed through the living room on her way toward the front door, and found herself hesitating. James was already up and dressed, no doubt waiting for the school bus. In the meantime, he was sitting on the couch and watching TV.

Nancy frowned when she saw what was on TV. It was a bit of live footage covering an incident involving a passenger airplane with engine trouble. Apparently the being which the public had dubbed "Superman" had helped the airplane make an emergency landing, saving the lives of nearly four hundred people.

She was no stranger to what had happened in Metropolis just six months ago. It had literally been all over the news world-wide for at least a few weeks, and it had been difficult to separate facts from rumors regarding the terrifying alien attack.

Apparently, from what she understood, there had once been a planet called Krypton. The alien called Superman was one of the few survivors from the people who lived there, and he had been raised on Earth by human parents (though who those were specifically, no one seemed able to find out). Superman had saved the Earth from some kind of destructive technology that would have doomed the entire human race.

Nancy found herself staring thoughtfully at the screen, catching a glimpse of the figure. It was hard to tell due to the angle and the distance, but he looked pretty human. The red cape that whipped around him in the wind made it difficult to make out much, however.

She couldn't help but wonder what it might be like, to meet such a being… but she knew the odds were less than slim. Why would such a magnificent (and utterly terrifying) alien with that much power ever wish to bother with her? Plus he was probably terribly busy. Not to mention he probably preferred to stay off the radar as much as possible… it wasn't like anybody knew where he lived. He moved too quickly even for satellite tracking, it seemed, although one rumor seemed to suggest that he had been spotted somewhere around the North Pole once in a while.

A beeping car horn got her attention. The taxi had arrived. "Bye, James," she said to her sandy-brown haired brother. He definitely took after their Dad when it came to his looks. "Bye Mom!" she called out, and headed out through the door without bothering to wait for a reply.

Five minutes later, she was strapped into the back seat of the taxi, on her way to her job interview. It was only a few blocks away, but she didn't want to risk ruining her hair in the cool, early Spring breeze or ruining her outfit with sweat from jogging. First impressions were important in a job interview, after all.

Unfortunately, the cab went barely more than two blocks before stopping in the middle of a traffic jam. Apparently there had been an accident up ahead, and traffic was being backed up for nearly half a mile, all because it happened near an intersection.

Nancy tapped her foot impatiently, glancing at her watch every few seconds. The flow of traffic just didn't seem to move. Ten minutes went by, then fifteen. Twenty.

Finally she huffed and flung the door open.

"Hey!" the cab driver said. "You still gotta pay!"

Nancy leaned closer to the driver's window, gesturing him to roll it down. Just as he did so, she handed him a couple of bills. "Keep the change," she said, and she weaved through the traffic and toward the sidewalk.

She just had to get to this job interview on time, one way or another. She had to! "Damn this city and all its stupid drivers," she growled under her breath as she made it to the sidewalk. "And damn all of this traffic!"

She ceased muttering under her breath as she began to jog. It was a very good thing she had the street address memorized, and it was also a good thing it wasn't very far.

She reached the end of the street and was getting ready to cross when a car sped by. She swore out loud as the screeching tires drove right through a large puddle, the resulting spray of water drenching one side of her pant leg.

Nancy shot the rapidly retreating car a dirty glare. Before she could yell something at the driver, a shiny glint caught her eye. She turned slightly, her gaze focusing on something on the ground. In her hurried state, she couldn't be certain, but . . . she was pretty sure it hadn't been there before. Had the driver lost it?

Nancy tilted her head and squatted near the edge of the sidewalk. The strange object appeared to be some kind of crystal—a glowing crystal—and weirder still, it had a piece of jagged metal attached to it, like a piece of broken tech. The whole thing had obviously been part of something much larger at some point . . . something technologically advanced, judging from the crystal's sleek contour and the metal piece's delicate thinness.

Her fingers tentatively encircled it and she turned it over in her hand. Intrigued, Nancy moved to put it in her purse, intending to study it more when she had more time, when a sharp jolt like electricity stung her palm.

Nancy cried out as the burning energy traveled up through her hand, into her arm, down into her chest. Her muscles spasmed and her hand clenched, involuntarily, over the crystal. For one long, horrible, painful moment she was unable to move.

Then her arm went limp and she dropped the crystal with a choking gasp. It clattered on the ground at her feet, cold, dark, and useless, faint smoke trailing from the fine jagged piece of metal.

Nancy shook so badly her teeth chattered, and the electric shock had left her weak-kneed. She glanced around, afraid someone might've seen what had happened. Thankfully, no one paid her any attention. Nancy gulped and rubbed her arms. A minute ago she'd been fascinated by the crystal; now she kicked at it, wanting it as far from her as possible. She had no idea what had happened or why it did that, but she wanted nothing more to do with it. She was relieved when she saw it land, with a quiet clatter, near the curb on the opposite side of the street.

Nancy took another deep, shuddering breath and hurried across the street before the light turned green. She proceeded down the next sidewalk, knowing it wouldn't be long before she reached her destination, but by the time she reached the corner her vision started to blur. She put her hand to her forehead, blinking hard. She felt light-headed, strangely detached from the world around her, and a floating sensation like her feet weren't firmly planted on the sidewalk came over her.

Nancy winced. Her ears were ringing now . . . but it wasn't even simple ringing. Random noise blasted her eardrums, like someone had turned up the volume on a car radio or a TV . . .

Only it seemed to be coming from all around her. It was as though everything around her had become amplified.

A passerby's cell phone rang and Nancy almost jumped out of her skin. The ringtone was explosive. Her own heart sounded like a huge bass drum. Cars going by, the footfalls of pedestrians, the noise of a TV in the apartment across the street, a baby crying a mile away . . . she could no longer even identify one sound from another. It was like trying to listen to a hundred different TV channels at the same time, and somebody had cranked up the volume full-blast.

Nancy put her hands to her ears and lifted her eyes from the sidewalk towards a nearby building. She gasped in horror. The brick walls went transparent, allowing her to see the family inside, getting ready for a busy day of school and work. She looked sharply across the street. A park bench suddenly came closer while she stood still, as if her eyes had developed their own zooming lens.

Her heart raced, her breath quickened. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't see anything and that, at least, was a relief, but the sounds hammered mercilessly down on her until she wanted to collapse on her knees and cry.

A group of friends moseyed down Main Street, laughing raucously at an old joke. They were barely out of high school and spent their free time traveling the suburbs, using the last summer before splitting up for various colleges in and out of state to do anything they liked.

They'd only just finished their laugh when one, a blond-haired jock named Mike, pointed to a slender figure stagger across the street, one hand pressed to the side of her head as if it hurt. Mike snorted contemptuously.

"Hey guys, check it out! It's Nerdy Nancy!" He nudged his neighbor, a shorter, quiet-looking fellow with darker hair. "Wonder what's she's up to, Brad? She can't be looking for a job. She couldn't talk with anyone for more than a second!"

Brad said nothing and merely watched the young woman, his brows drawing close. He'd known Nancy all through high school and had admired her from a distance. She was shy, true, but she seemed studious and kind—qualities he appreciated much more than the brashness of the more popular set. If she really was out trying to get a job, she was doing better, in his opinion, than the rest of them. All they'd done over the past few weeks was waste time and horse around.

The rest of his group laughed as Nancy stumbled in the road. Brad didn't laugh; his concern grew as he took note of Nancy's white, taut face. She was obviously in pain. His own mother had recurrent migraines . . . maybe Nancy was a victim of the same condition.

Mike shook his arm. "What's the matter Brad, wanna go and protect Nerdy Nancy?"

"Shut up Mike." Brad shoved Mike as he spoke, trying not to show how he still watched the girl from the corner of his eyes.

Mike chuckled and sprinted ahead to lead the group around the corner. When he noticed Brad had fallen behind again, he grinned teasingly and started making kissing noises. "Looky there, ladies and gents—Brad loves Nerdy Nancy!"

Brad swallowed back an angry retort; ignoring Mike he ventured across the busy street after Nancy, only to stop when she covered her ears with her hands and doubled over with a groan.  
Reaching out timidly, Brad laid a hand on the girl's arm.

"Nancy? Nancy, are you OK?"

At his touch Nancy shrieked like something possessed, and her arm shot out like a snake. The next thing Brad knew, the ground disappeared from under his feet and he slammed into a dumpster yards from where Nancy still crouched miserably. The steel buckled and dented beneath him and he gasped in pain.

Mike and his friends heard Nancy shriek and saw Brad fly into the dumpster. One of the girls, flirting shamelessly with Mike a second ago, screamed in terror. Mike's mouth fell open, and in a sudden burst of indignation he stomped across the street, glaring at Nancy.

"G—d—m freak!" he snarled. "Tommy, Clay, you two come with me. Becca, you call 9-11, and be quick about it!"

A crowd had already started to form around Nancy, foiling his plan to manhandle her and rough her up a bit. That's what a goody-two-shoes like Nancy Jones deserved, anyway. Grumbling to himself, Mike ran to Brad. For someone who rarely wasted concern on anybody, Mike's stomach twisted in concern at the sight of Brad's ashen face and the way he clutched at his chest.

"Brad, Brad man, are you ok? Don't worry, that freak is going to be in a lot of trouble for hurting you. How the hell did she throw you anyways? You're at least 250 pounds..."

"Wha...?" Brad gasped. "No . . . don't—don't you dare—touch her—she's not . . . "

Mike and his two friends shared unsure glances even as the crowds around the frightened girl pulled out their own phones to capture what had happened.

"Incident at Main and East streets involving assault and battery between a woman and man. Requesting any available units to investigate, over."

Officer Benton glanced at the radio set in his police cruiser with a frown. With a sigh, he turned on his siren and pushed the pedal down to speed up.

At the words "assault and battery between a woman and a man" he clenched his teeth. He had never liked men abusing women and made it his personal mission to be sure that the offender understood that everyone was to be treated with respect. Reaching a hand down for the detachable walkie, he made sure his voice was even and spoke slowly to be understood.

"This is Benton, I'm heading there now, over." His partner, a younger man in training, made sure his belt was tightened and settled into the seat. He had seen the older officer get upset about abuse before and knew they were in for a rough time.

"Roger that, over." Static crackled before turning silence, leaving the two officers to the peace that came only before the storm. With another grim frown, the older man continued his race downtown, eyes squinted in concentration.

The police arrived, the gumballs atop their cars spinning and their sirens wailing. For Nancy, the cacophany of random noise was now unbearable. Footfalls approached her, a rough hand clamped on her shoulder. She heard another heart pumping, someone's breathing, stern shouting, the loud rustle of fingers brushing against her arm.

"It's okay, miss," Benton said gently, "let's get you on your feet—"

Get away from me, just get away!

Nancy shrieked and swept her arm out, pushing the intruder away. Through disoriented vision she saw a blur of flesh and navy-blue clothing crash into a police car. She tried to take a step forward, even tried to open her mouth to apologize, but the dizziness hit her full-force again and she shut her eyes with a groan.

The sound of air entering and exiting her mouth and lungs jolted her ears as much as her own rapid heartbeat. She tried to open her eyes again, saw flashes of people's internal organs and a zoom-like effect of a person's face up close. She turned her eyes to the ground and saw right through the ground at her feet, as if the concrete sidewalk had opened up and she was falling through the Earth's crust into a deep hole . . .

I have to get away from this—I can't take this anymore!

With some effort she managed to get up and stagger forward without any clear idea of where she  
was going. She stumbled forward, bumping into the frightened people around her, falling to her  
hands and knees, getting up again.

She staggered into a telephone pole, breaking off the lower portion of it and causing the rest of it to hang in limbo by the wires above. Trying to keep her eyes half-closed, holding a hand to one ear and stretching out her other arm to guide her, she was only vaguely aware of walking into a supermarket. She heard glass shattering, felt even the tiniest shards as they landed on single hair follicles on her scalp and arms. Merchandise fell to the floor with deafening crashes; she opened her eyes, saw shoppers abandon their carts and run like Godzilla was after them.

Avoid them, avoid them, just hide, just hide . . . restroom . . . restroom at the back of the supermarket . . . no windows, hide in the corner . . .

She didn't even realize that she'd just staggered into the men's restroom. Deep voices shouted and swore in surprise and alarm and big heavy bodies rushed past her. Nancy gasped, felt with her hands for the nearest stall. Her sensitive fingertips picked up every pore in the plastic walls but she finally felt herself sway against one of the doors. She stumbled inside and slammed the door, locked it with shaking hands, and collapsed between the wall and the toilet.

Someone banged on the door. Nancy forced her eyes open and briefly glimpsed dark-colored shoes-and then she could see right through the bathroom stall door. It was... a police officer?

"Open up! This is an officer speaking—unlock this door!"

Nancy sobbed, the voice making her head feel like it was going to explode. The officer slammed his hand against the door again and that was just too much. Nancy sprang to her feet and kicked the stall door. The officer went flying and Nancy heard bodily organs being crushed and bones cracking as he flew into the heavy wall on the opposite side of the room.

Horror overwhelmed Nancy—horror and nausea. She screamed and screamed again, tears running down her face, as she curled up on the floor and pressed her hands tightly against her ears, burying her head between her knees. What the hell was happening to her? What had she become?


	2. Chapter 2

"Law enforcement and SWAT teams have surrounded the young woman in the Wal-Mart here at Main and East Street, demanding that she stand down. The police have warned everyone to stay back until things are under control . . . "

An immaculately-dressed reporter held a microphone to her mouth as she faced the camera, in just the right angle to show the huge force of police vehicles cramming the Wal-Mart parking lot. As she spoke, however, a high-pitched scream of agony emanated from within the supermarket. It seemed to pierce through everything and caused the camera to frazzle out for a second, and even the reporter winced painfully.

"As you can see—and hear—it doesn't appear as though the Minitropolis Police Deparatment is dealing with any ordinary disturbance of the peace. It appears this young woman is somehow similar to Zod and his crew from five months ago and has now started to run rampant in our very own streets. Stay tuned as we continue to give you live coverage as the story unfolds."

The men's restroom was a wreck. Dust was everywhere from the gaping hole where the severely wounded officer still lay, bleeding and coughing. A couple of his comrades bent over him, keeping him calm, while the paramedics tried to figure out how they would get a stretcher into the confined space without disturbing the maniac who cowered in the far corner of the room. A SWAT team had also arrived, posting themselves right in front of the girl, automatic rifles trained on her trembling, crouched frame.

"So what, we're going to just sit here and wait for her to calm down?" someone muttered. "We could be here all day!"

"Well, you want to end up like Thompson over here?" another whispered, nodding towards the hurt officer. "We're dealing with an explosive situation here, we've gotta handle it with kid gloves—"

"Exactly," a new, calm, quiet voice suddenly broke in, "and if you provoke her anymore than you already have, she's likely to tear the whole store down."

The tense officers whirled and drew in a sharp, collective breath. Where he'd come from or how he knew what was going on, no one could guess—but then, the tall, handsome alien the Daily Planet had dubbed "Superman" five months ago seemed to have a way of knowing about an emergency within minutes of it happening. And there he was, in that steel-blue, form-fitting suit and the long crimson cape that trailed the floor as he walked. In spite of themselves, the officers and paramedics began to relax. If Superman was here . . . well, at least he was the best kind of reinforcement you could ask for.

Superman moved quietly but confidently towards the wounded man and got down on one knee beside him. Laying a gentle hand on the officer's shoulder, he moved his deep blue eyes in a slow scan over the man's mangled body; finally he looked over his broad shoulder at the waiting paramedics.

"Four of his ribs are broken, one lung is punctured, and his internal organs are badly crushed. He needs surgery quickly." He glanced at the whimpering girl a few feet away. "Go ahead and move the stretcher in. The noise won't bother her anymore then our voices already do."

His voice was still quiet, but clipped and urgent. The paramedics quickly unfolded the stretcher; Superman stood and stepped out of the way as they prepared the wounded man for transfer, then made his way towards the SWAT team.

"Excuse me," he said, brushing past them as he wasn't at all afraid of their huge rifles. They made way for him in obvious respect, and in a few seconds Superman—known to only a few people in the whole world as Clark Kent—stood in front of the individual who had caused so much chaos over the past hour.

He was startled to find she was hardly more than a girl, probably not even twenty years old. Her clothes were torn and filthy and her black hair was disheveled about her white, drawn face. She trembled from head to foot, and her breath came in short, ragged gasps.

She doesn't seem capable of all the destruction I've just seen. But then again . . . I probably didn't seem capable of it when I was her age, either.

At the thought, his stern expression softened a little. He took a step forward. The girl, her hands pressed to her ears, flinched perceptibly. He stopped, startled. He took another step and she moaned, as if the very sound of his rustling cape and his footsteps tormented her, even with her hands over her ears like that.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly. The girl only sobbed miserably in response.

Well, at least she understands me. Quickly, he scanned her with his x-ray vision for any injuries. Her bones were sound, her muscles taut and strong, her internal organs unharmed. But her heart was racing and she was hyperventilating; she wasn't getting nearly the oxygen she needed. Something was either causing her intense pain . . . or fear. Probably both.

Slowly, Clark got down on his knees in front of Nancy. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, shutting out from his own consciousness the crowd of tense officers behind him, and focusing all his attention instead on the girl, her rapid heartbeat, and the terror she was obviously feeling.

"Is it too loud?" he whispered.

To his relief the girl nodded slightly, barely moving least she make things worse for herself. He moved a little closer, taking care that his suit didn't make much noise against the tile floor.

"Imagine an island," he said, keeping his voice quiet and even. "All alone in the ocean. Can you see it?"

The girl's heartbeat slowed just a little. Clark smiled softly. "Swim to it. Focus on that island and nothing else."

_

Nancy held her breath, still keeping her hands over her ears. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her shut eyes, though she tried to take the stranger's advice.

Ever since she slammed the officer into the wall she'd been here in this corner, knowing men stood over her with their rifles trained on her and knowing they were afraid to touch her. It was horrible, being so terrified and knowing everyone was terrified of you. But somehow she got the vibe, at least, that this person knew what he was talking about. Even if his voice still blared in her ears, he was at least the first person to speak quietly. And she appreciated that. Immensely.

Nancy swallowed. Her lips moved and she tried to say something, but her dry tongue wouldn't cooperate. She licked her lips and drew her first deep breath since this nightmare began.

What did he say? An island . . . alone in the ocean? She tried to imagine an island . . . perhaps Gilligan's Island. Ugh, too many fish, too many people on it. She groaned, shook her aching head. She couldn't focus on it, and what little she could envision offered her no comfort.

Nancy sobbed in despair and opened her eyes, letting the tears run down her face. As she did so she saw the stranger for the first time. She gasped, recognized the suit and the cape and that weird curvy symbol on his chest. She remembered seeing him on TV just that morning . . . that seemed like an eternity ago, and she was still at home and everything was normal . . .

Nancy forced her disoriented vision to focus on Superman. Her chin quivered and she willed her thoughts to reflect in her aching eyes.

Help me . . . please, please help me.

Clark saw the desperation in the girl's face and understood. Sensory overload. He knew the feeling, had gone through the pain of it himself. It hadn't happened in a long time, of course . . . not since he was a little boy. But why would a human girl be having this kind of reaction?

Well, it didn't matter at this point. All that mattered right now was to get her calm. Keeping his voice low and as gentle as possible, he leaned closer still and suggested a different tactic.

"Imagine a lake. The water is still and there is no one around. Picture that water, still and calm."

_

"It looks as though the police have retreated and the army is now setting up a perimeter around the location. I think the store manager is coming out . . . Yes, he's being escorted by the army out of the building."

The reporter rushed forward as the army officials and the manager passed the blockade, sticking the microphone into his face. "Sir! Sir! Can you tell us what you saw?! Was that really Superman we saw enter the building?"

The green-uniformed military personnel brushed past the reporter. The manager couldn't focus on anything, shaking as he was placed into the red and white vehicle and taken away. The reporter turned to the nearest soldier and reached out with her microphone.

"Bethany Trumm, Station 7 News. Can you confirm that the alien Superman has come to help?" The blonde kept a professional smile in place even as the soldier frowned at the insistent questions.

"No comment. Now please, no civilians beyond this point."

The reporter frowned briefly before searching the building intently, trying to find anything else she could report on before they went back to the studio camera.

_

Nancy grunted painfully. Lakes, islands, oceans . . . was this guy for real? How was this mumbo-jumbo supposed to help when every sound still tortured her eardrums?

She focused on him as best she could. He was trying to be helpful, giving advice, and he seemed sincere. He watched her closely with keen eyes. Blue eyes. He wasn't trying to touch her, and he wasn't yelling at her. She wanted to trust him so badly.

She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. Water . . . lake . . . why would I want to think about anything like that?

Nancy made a sudden movement, more out of frustration and aggravation than anything else. She stood abruptly, bracing her hand against the wall—or at least, that's what she meant to do. Her hand went right through the sheetrock. The sudden burst of noise and unexpected destruction jolted her out of the fragile calm she'd started to achieve. She grunted again in frustration, laced with despair.

Clark clenched his teeth at the sudden destruction of the wall, forcing himself to remain calm and not show any surprise whatsoever. The bad feeling he got when he first noticed the signs of her super powers grew with every move this girl made. Moving slowly, he rose to his feet, moved close to her, and held out his hands.

Nancy froze. He was coming—he was going to grab her—he was going to put her in handcuffs or a straitjacket. Striking out in fear with both hands, she tried to push him away—but her palms slammed against his toned chest and the curving symbol and went no further. Her heart went to pounding again and she squinted as her eyes started playing tricks on her again, seeing right through his suit and into his rib cage.

Clark drew in his breath when Nancy tried to push him away. Lois had acted like this when she first met him, terrified and hurt and fighting like a cat; he'd caught her hands then, forced her to look at him, talked softly until she calmed down long enough for him to help her. Now he reached up for Nancy's hands and caught her wrists—gently, though, so she wouldn't think she was trapped.

"It's going to be okay. Focus on me. Focus only my heartbeat, okay?" Pulling the girl close, slow but firm, he placed her next to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. She squirmed, but he held her fast, and there was nothing she could do to hurt him.

"You need to calm down and focus on something small."

_

Bethany was about to turn the scene back to her counterparts at the studio when a dark green humvee drove up and pulled close to the blockade. Stepping out with a fearsome scowl, a dark skinned officer nodded to those on duty and headed into the store. Rushing up with arm outstretched, Bethany made another, more daring attempt to get some answers. She noticed a small stitched-on patch on his uniform, stating his name as "Swanwick."

"Bethany Trumm, Station 7 News; General, is it true that Superman is inside the building with the unidentified woman? Is she also from outer space? Are we now part of an intergalactic communication? Are there more coming?" The reporter tried to keep up with the fast paced general who frowned at her and her leaps in questions.

"No comment. Someone get her out of here, I thought I said no civilians!" The General turned to shout at some of the other officers who leaped to attention and stepped forward with their hands out, repelling the reporter and her cameraman. Knowing there was a story happening, Bethany merely stepped far enough that the soldiers were unable to force her away continued to watch for new development.

_

"Superman, what the hell is going on?"

Clark winced at Swanwick's booming voice and felt the girl go tight as a bowstring. He laid a hand against her head, forcing her to lie still against his chest. Swanwick burst into the restroom and Clark looked at him over his shoulder, glaring daggers.

"Please keep your voice down," he said in a low but curt tone. "Unless you want her to spontaneously combust."

Swanwick stared, flabbergasted. He hadn't expected to find Superman protecting a troublemaker like this. But he didn't make any protests, knowing from first-hand experience that you didn't pick fights with Superman.

Nancy wriggled, panicking, when she found herself in Superman's arms. She didn't want to be confined, not by him, not by anybody. But his arms held her firmly in place and his hand kept her head against his chest. He wasn't being rough or holding her too tightly; he simply held her near him. After a few seconds of pointless struggling, she finally ceased.

She tried to ignore the new, booming voice that addressed Superman; she forced herself to lie still, keep her eyes closed, listen to the heartbeat of the man who held her. She tried very hard to focus only on that, but it was difficult. How could you focus on any one sound with so much noise constantly blaring in your ears . . . and when you were starting to wonder what was going to ultimately happen to you?

Come on, just focus on your own damn breathing. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, focused  
on the rhythm of her own lungs. The feeling, the sensation of air going in and out of her body.  
Deep breath, in. Deep breath, out . . .

Maybe she was starting to get what he was talking about. Just find one thing to focus on, just one thing. The awful noise still continued to bombard her-every car engine outside, every whisper, every bird chirp, a helicoptor that flew overhead . . . but she did have her breathing. In, out. Lungs expanding, lungs deflating. The sensation, the sound, the rich smell of oxygen . . . It became almost hypnotic.

Clark felt the girl starting to calm down, if only marginally. When he allowed his own hearing to reach beyond this little island of quiet, he winced at the memory of what the world must sound like to her untrained ears. Glancing over his shoulder again to face General Swanwick, he spoke barely above a whisper.

"She's having trouble adjusting."

The general frowned, the explanation unsatisfactory. "Just what is—"

Superman shot him a stern look and Swanwick cleared his throat, began again a softer voice. "Just what is going on? Who is she? One of your people?"

The alien frowned thoughtfully as he looked down at the girl, trying to match her delicate features with what he knew of Kryptonians. Searching his memory, he couldn't recall anything his father told him that would lead him to think that she was from Krypton.

"No, General, I don't believe so . . . but I don't know how she managed to get like this."

"Hmm," Swanwick grumbled. He stepped past the silent, watchful SWAT team and out of the room, lifting one finger in a silent command to wait a minute. Clark saw the general, as he exited the room, pull a phone from his pocket. The girl shivered in his arms and buried her face in his chest, like a frightened child who's finally found a safe spot from the storm.

When General Swanwick returned, he jerked his head to the front of the store. "She'll have to come with us. We need to get her to a secure location."

At that, Clark felt Nancy flinch. She'd at least made sense of the words "she'll have to come with us," and she had no idea what that meant. She probably didn't even realize this was one of the most prominent officers of the United States Army speaking. Her breathing became ragged again and her forehead bored against his breastbone.

When the military took him into custody five months ago, they'd handcuffed him. Of course, he'd let them, but that was beside the point; it was what they wanted to do to him whether he liked it or not. If they tried that with this girl, she'd either lash out or it would break her mind completely. Clark drew a deep breath and turned slowly, trying not to disturb her, so that he faced  
Swanwick head-on.

"Fine, General. But I'm going with her."

The general frowned and started to speak loudly before remembering to lower his voice.

"No, this is US military business only. We have to move her to a secure and remote location, and if you come along the news will be all over you—"

"The news has been all over me for the past five months, General, and it hasn't done me any harm," Clark interrupted firmly. "I understand these symptoms and you'll need someone who can withstand her strength. You need my help."

He made sure his voice held iron in it as he talked with the general—apparently a firm hand and a stern voice were the only things Swanwick and the rest of the government ever understood—but knew his tone was frightening the bundle of nervousness in his arms. He bent over her dark head and ran his hand over her head, whispering gently, "I won't let them hurt you."

"I suppose it's not like I could stop you anyways, right?" Swanwick snapped, folding his arms over his chest.

Clark lifted his head and gave Swanwick a cool, steady look that was a silent challenge and not one Swanwick really cared to accept. The general glared at the girl, the SWAT team, the alien.

"Fine. But not out the front doors. We have to keep her out of sight."


	3. Chapter 3

Nancy quickly became aware of the fact that she was being moved. Superman had a strong arm around her shoulders, using his other arm to support her, as if afraid she would fall flat on her face unassisted. Which was a very real possibility, as she didn't exactly feel %100.

She didn't want to be moved. They would probably take her someplace terrible, and she already didn't like the guy with the booming voice. It sounded like that guy was still talking, barking out orders to his men.

Of course, every voice basically sounded like a booming voice right now…

She gritted her teeth and dug her heels into the ground, refusing to take any more steps, assisted or otherwise. Superman halted as she balked, and tried to gently but firmly work through her sudden stubbornness. "It's okay, we're going to take you someplace safe," he told her.

Nancy made a slight huffing sound in response and still refused to budge. Her form only stiffened as Superman tried to take a step forward with her. He sighed inwardly, then his forehead creased with mild frustration as Swanwick called out to them. "What is the hold-up here?" the General demanded.

Superman knew that if he didn't get her moving, the military would do something that might spook the girl more than she already was. Regardless, they all knew she couldn't stay here; she was a danger to everyone and everything around her, at least until she learned to control her powers.

Decision made, he stooped just enough to catch her legs while keeping one arm around her shoulders, literally swooping her off of her feet. Her eyes flew wide and she gasped softly, balking somewhat at being hefted, but she didn't struggle much.

Superman hefted her form gently, getting her into a more comfortable position, and pressed on. He could tell that she didn't like being bodily removed from the area all that much. Nevertheless, he felt her rigid muscles relax somewhat by the time they left the building.

_

Nancy found herself being carried into a van. The sounds of voices within, as well as the shuffling of feet and clothing brushing against the upholstery of the seats assaulted her ears, quickly accompanied by the clicking of seat belts among other noises. Obviously, other people were getting settled in as well.

Superman finally stopped, lowering her into one of the seats, which she allowed herself to collapse into. She had to keep her eyes closed during the majority of the ride; her whacky vision made the motion seem more unnerving, especially since she could catch glimpses of the landscape on the other side of the tinted windows.

Superman was sitting next to her, and she could tell, whenever she tried to open her eyes, that he was still watching her. Actually, everyone in the van was watching her—and there were plenty of people, all in military uniforms and, she noticed after a quick glance, all armed. They whispered among themselves and still it wreaked havoc on her ears. She just wanted them all to be silent, to stop looking at her.

Thankfully, Superman seemed to be making sure everyone kept their voices low, obviously for her benefit. And no one seemed to want to make her agitated. After all, hadn't she put her hand through a bathroom wall? Nancy cringed at the memory.

The tires rumbled, the metal sides of the van creaked, the engine roared. Nancy couldn't even hear her own breathing as readily; she resorted to trying to focus on the thundering engine, scuffing her shoe against the floor, squeezing her wrist. Any little distraction to keep herself focused . . . to keep herself from going mad.

_

Clark sat next to the girl as their car drove westward, watching her carefully. She sat tensely, her hands clenched her lap and her eyes shut, but her heartbeat wasn't quite so erratic. That was a good sign. Maybe she was trying to take his advice and focus on smaller things.

He turned his attention to the annoyed general sitting across from them. Swanwick's young, pretty aide, Captain Farris, sat beside him; she turned pink every time Clark glanced in her direction.

"What are you planning to do with her?" Clark whispered. Swanwick narrowed his eyes.

"This is no concern of yours. We take care of our own."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes, because the government has always taken good care of its citizens. I'm not going to just leave her, Swanwick. I want to know what you mean to do with her?"

"Why do you care?" Swanwick snapped.

Clark clenched his jaw, forced himself to remain calm and quiet for the girl's sake. "I told you a few months ago that I'm here to help, General. This girl is obviously dealing with some of the same kind of sensory overloads I had to deal with as a newcomer to this planet. If I can help her overcome it or at least let her know there's someone who understands what she's going through, it may save you a headache—or a disaster."

Swanwick set his own jaw and glanced, irritably, at Captain Farris. She ducked her head, embarrassed, and offered him absolutely no support.

"We'll need to do some medical testing, as well as find some way to get her to calm down enough to tell us why she is like this," Swanwick finally grumbled. "If we can't get her to talk, we'll have to find someway to help her."

Clark tilted his head in a regal nod and Swanwick returned it sharply. Then the general glanced away, annoyed, preferring to fix his eyes on the tinted window than meet Superman's cool gaze.

_

Bethany had found the rest of her story. Capturing sight of the caped alien and the mysterious girl, she rushed closer and spoke with microphone in the middle, attempting to catch anything said while reporting.

"And now we have Superman exiting the building with the girl in his arms! She seems to be unable to move and seems to be in pain. They are going with General Swanwick into one of the vehicles. Excuse me! Can you tell me where you are taking her?"

The reporter tried to question one of the remaining soldiers only to be promptly ignored. Finding that they were leaving without a word and she had no real way to follow after them, Bethany turned to her cameraman one last time.

"Will we hear an official statement from the government about this mysterious woman? What does Superman have to do with it? Is he in league with the military? Find out on Station 7 News! Thanks and back to you!"

_

Nancy knew decisions were being made about her, or at least discussed. But what could she do about it? She couldn't handle this on her own, that much was obvious. If it wasn't for Superman, she'd still be writhing in agony in that bathroom.

Funny, to think an alien with superpowers had rescued her while her own people just stood there pointing automatic rifles in her face.

A sudden thought flitted through her aching head and Nancy stiffened. Superpowers. I have superpowers. Oh. Good. Lord. Am I becoming one of them?

"Them," of course, meaning the crazed mass murderers who had rampaged through Metropolis five months ago, and Superman.

Taut as a bowstring, Nancy unconsciously pressed into the floor with her toes—and very nearly put her foot through the floor of the van. The soldiers around her burst into muffled exclamations; a gun cocked with an explosive click. For the first time the idea of a gun pointing at her terrified her and Nancy cowered back with a whimper.

Then a strong, warm hand closed over hers and she heard a quiet voice say, "It's all right . . . it's all right."

Nancy's throat tightened and burned with tears; she swallowed hard and squeezed the reassuring hand. She was afraid her new strength would crunch his hand, but to her surprise, it held. That hand was probably one of the few things she could squeeze with all her might and it didn't seem to faze him—though she did hear him try to smother a grunt of discomfort.

Eventually, the van stopped; the engine went quiet. Surprised as she was by the sudden lack of sounds, Nancy opened her eyes, only to squeeze them shut again as new sounds bombarded her. She'd at least been able to focus on the consistent roar of the engine. Now that it was gone, the clamor of the soldiers exiting the van, their rifles banging against the side of the van, their voices raised now above whispers, made her skin crawl. She groaned, once again succumbing into near-insanity as the intense noise got to be too much for her, and clamped her hands over her ears.

Firm but gentle fingers pried her hands away from her head. Nancy flinched and tried to jerk away, but those hands held her wrists firm. Then a different set of hands seemed to put something over her ears. Something that felt almost like . . . a helmet? No, not quite . . . more like the headphones that she would sometimes use at home, only bigger . . . no, not headphones. Earmuffs? Yeah . . . sophisticated earmuffs.

And they helped. They actually helped. They completely didn't drown out the sounds around her, but everything was muffled. Nancy inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly.

"Is that better?" asked someone nearby, perhaps the one who had provided the head-gear. Nancy opened her eyes just a slit, saw a young woman in uniform. The same one who had sat opposite her, with that general guy.

"Can you understand me?" the woman asked kindly.

"Y—yeah," she croaked, speaking for the first time since all of this crap began to happen. Her mouth was dry. "Water . . ."

"Coming right up," the woman said. Nancy shut her eyes again, almost sobbed with relief when she felt an ice-cold plastic bottle touch her hands. She grasped for it, fumbled for the top. The woman's small cool hands unscrewed it for her and Nancy gulped at the water like she'd been in the Sahara.

_

Swanwick and Superman watched as Captain Farris helped the mysterious girl drink from the water bottle. Clark noticed she kept her eyes closed, but at least she wasn't grabbing at her ears like she had an earache of biblical proportions anymore.

"Are you going to be here the whole time she's here at the base?" Swanwick suddenly asked. "There won't be anything else that would need your attention?"

Clark allowed himself a dry smile. Now that they had isolated the girl here at the military base, Swanwick was obviously a little more reluctant to see him go. "I'm sure I can handle any emergency quickly enough to get back here in time to help you out, sir."

"And if she loses control again while you're 'handling it?' How would we get your help then?"

Clark bit the side of his cheek, exasperated. This man had been distrustful of him ever since that day, five months ago, when Clark surrendered himself to the military. To be quite frank, he was getting a little sick of it. He pulled a small emitter from his belt and handed it to the general.

"This sends out a frequency so high that it can't be heard by human ears. Activate it when you need me and I'll be there."

"Sir?" Captain Farris called nervously, her eyes on Superman rather than Swanwick. "I think you'd better come quick . . ."

The girl had downed the contents of the bottle and was now reaching out like a blind person, arms outstretched, whimpering fretfully. Clark closed the distance between them and grabbed one of her hands. The girl relaxed immediately and squeezed as tight as she could. Clark drew in his breath, startled by the pressure. However she got this power, at least she wasn't as strong as he was—and yet she was still strong. Very strong.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," the girl mumbled, nodding her head slowly.

"We're going to take you inside now. Don't be afraid. You're perfectly safe"—I hope, he thought grimly—"and I'm not going to leave you, all right? Can you tell me your name?"

The girl hesitated, and a slight frown creased her forehead. Clark tensed, started praying she'd trust him enough to at least give him this detail. It would make his job so much easier if she would trust him just a little . . .

"N—Nancy," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nancy. My name's Nancy."

Clark smothered a sigh of relief, kept his voice calm and low. "Nancy, I'm going to pick you up and carry you inside so you won't have to worry about walking. Don't be afraid. I've got you . . ."

He wrapped one arm underneath her shoulders, hooked the other beneath her legs, and slowly scooped her up. Nancy flinched only for a second and then made no other resistance. The soldiers swarmed around them but Clark pointedly ignored them; making sure his strides were as slow and careful as possible, he followed General Swanwick inside the base.

The heavy doors shut quietly behind them as they traveled down a long corridor and into a cold, sterile examination room. Setting Nancy down on the paper covered bed chair, Clark got down on one knee beside her and kept a firm hold on her hand; she leaned her head back, eyes still closed, and squeezed his hand like her life—or sanity—depended on it.

_

A military doctor and his female assistant walked in. Swanwick exited the room only to head for the one next door, with a two-way mirror looking into the examination room. He planted himself with both hands behind his back and watched tensely, prepared to call a squad of men to the doctor's defense if that girl should lash out.

Nancy lay still, but she didn't feel entirely at ease. She'd never been in a military base before. Strange new voices, the pale light shining down on her and penetrating her eyelids, the different scents in the air . . . if anything, she'd been more comfortable in the van.

I want to go home. I want my mom. Her eyelids burned with tears again and she swallowed hard in sudden anger. Why did I even have to get out of bed this morning? Why did I have to tell my alarm to shut up? I could've slept in and completely missed that job interview, and maybe I wouldn't have gotten myself into this mess!

She flinched nervously as the doctor and his assistant came closer. She always hated going to the doctor, but this different. She knew they wanted to check her out, figure out what was different about her.

What are Mom and Dad going to think when they find out I've been taken in by Superman and the military . . . when they find out something really, really strange happened to me?

Nancy tried to backtrack a little, only half-listening to whatever the doctor was saying. What happened? How did this start, anyway?

Then she recalled something that made her blood turn to ice. People had been around her, taunting her, poking fun at her . . . she'd sent one of them flying . . .

Then there had been something else, too. She'd kicked someone, a police officer, and she'd wandered aimlessly and slammed through a bathroom stall and there were crunching, squishing sounds that made her want to throw up . . .

Nancy's eyes flew open so suddenly, the doctor and the nurse jumped back in fright. Nancy fixed her eyes on the ceiling and for once, nothing looked weird. She blinked, lifted her head, glanced down at the young man in the blue suit and the red cape. He watched her sympathetically, maybe a little worriedly.

"D—did I hurt people?" she blurted, more to him than the doctor. "I hurt people back there, didn't I?"

Superman opened his mouth to speak but the doctor cut him off, stepping closer again.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Stan and this is my assistant, Nurse Deheart. I'm going to do a basic check up okay? I'm going to ask a few questions as well, is that all right?"

Nancy tore her eyes away from Superman and nodded weakly. The doctor returned the nod and signaled to the nurse to start taking notes. "I'm going to need you to strip, please. You may leave your underwear on, though."

Nancy stared, aghast. Dr. Stan glanced at his assistant, who shrugged but continued taking notes. He frowned and tried a different tack.

"Can you tell me what happened that started all this, Miss . . . Nancy?"

Nancy said nothing, just stared at him like he'd grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. Exasperated, Dr. Stan turned to Superman—but the alien seemed to be in his own little world, his penetrating blue eyes perusing the various supplies in the room, apparently unconcerned about making Nancy comply.

What Stan didn't know was that the alien was completely focused on the girl's heart rate, which had begun to spike as soon as the doctor requested she strip.

"Did—I—hurt—people?" Nancy repeated, clenching her hands.

Dr. Stan hesitated, not sure how much to tell her. Before he could reply, however, Superman turned to the girl again, his chiseled face softer than any of the military personnel had ever seen it before.

"Yes, Nancy," he said quietly. "But they will be fine in time."

Nancy bit her lip. Dr. Stan and the nurse glanced at each other nervously, unsure of how the girl was going to respond to the knowledge she had harmed another.

_

"I'm Tim Drake and this is my co-anchor Annabelle Wiseman, and we've had some breaking news about our mysterious superwoman from earlier today. Several eye-witnesses state that her name is Nancy Jones, a recent graduate of Metropolis High School."

The anchorman shuffled his papers before a school photo of Nancy appeared on the screen next to him. "Birth records say that she was born as a regular human to Melanie and Edward Jones. Never showing any signs of having 'super powers' during her life until this moment."

"Yes, and if she was a normal 'human' before now, what caused the change and how?" the blonde co-anchor crowed "Don't touch that channel . . . we are getting updates every hour on the hour!"

_

"I hurt people," Nancy whispered numbly.

Saying it out loud made it feel even more real. Whoever her victims were, they were probably in the hospital right now—all because of her. What would happen when she saw her parents and siblings again? Would she be able to hug them without hurting them?

Yes, somehow she had apparently obtained the powers of Superman and his people . . . those crazy people, the ones who tried to smash neighboring Metropolis with their giant spaceship and its gravity beam thingy. In Metropolis, the suburban town on the edge of Metropolis, the ground had shaken beneath Nancy's feet; the power went out and by evening she and Rachel and James were cowering underneath Mom and Dad's bed while Superman and Zod fought it out in a final, destructive duel that everyone feared might spill over into the suburbs.

But how did she get like this? Was there some kind of alien virus that could change humans to be more like them?

I want to call someone."

Before the doctor, the nurse, or Superman could respond, she suddenly heard, through the walls, someone rush into the next room. She heard his panicked voice, General Swanwick's brusque reply.

"General, our intelligence team has been able to identify the woman as Nancy Jones, 19, daughter of Melanie and Edward Jones, resident of Metropolis. Here's the complete file, sir."

"Well, that at least gives us a starting point. Get our resident PR on the case, say anything that will stop these d—d reporters from asking any more questions. And tell him to make it convincing."

Nancy gulped. The doctor obviously hadn't heard what she just did. He was still watching her expectantly. She licked her lips, turned to Superman. His eyes were calm and kind.

"I want to call someone," she repeated.

"You can't call anyone at this time, Miss Jones," a voice—Swanwick's—suddenly blared through a static-filled speaker. "We are trying to contain the situation and not make the public go into a panic."

To Nancy's ears, the voice sounded like thunder and she winced, pressed her hands against the headphones. Keeping her eyes open, she shot Superman a pleading look. He sighed and turned towards the mirror on the other side of the room.

"It's just one phone call," he said.

"And we need to maintain proper procedure and security," Swanwick snapped. "Until things settle down and she can control her abilities, she can't contact anyone."

Nancy gritted her teeth, a whirlwind of emotions swelling up inside of her. It was too much, too fast, and everything that had happened-everything she had inadvertantly done-was catching up to her. These people were all strangers—cold-hearted strangers—and they were all afraid of her, like she was some monster.

"Let me out," she snapped, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and half-staggering away from it. The doctor's assistant backed up, eyes widening nervously; Dr. Stan frowned.

"I want to go home! Just let me go home!" Nancy cried.

Dr. Stan clamped his hand on the doorknob, as if daring her to make an escape. Nancy's first instinct was to accept the challenge—but then she remembered what she was capable of and froze, horror-stricken. If she so much as pushed this guy out of the way she might send him flying over two counties.

She suddenly felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She whirled and met Superman's quiet eyes.

"I'll get you a phone call. But you have to remain calm, okay?"

Before she could reply, he motioned for Dr. Stan to move out of the way. The doctor obeyed with a new meekness and Superman swept out, his cape rustling as he moved.

_

Clark burst into the room where Swanwick was watching and listening. Swanwick whirled from the two-way mirror and the look on his face was belligerent. Clark felt his own patience starting to thin and glared angrily at Swanwick.

"Who do you think she wants to call, terrorist accomplices on the other side of the world?" he hissed. "I heard your man give you that information about her. She's only nineteen years old, General. You know she just wants to call her family."

Swanwick's big hands clenched and he set his jaw. "We have legitimate security concerns, Kal-El, and you are making this more difficult than—"

"You can track and hide the phone call," Clark snapped. "And while she's calling her family, you should find some way to block her vision." He paused, then added in a dangerously low tone, "She will communicate with her family one way or another, General, even if I have to bring her parents a message myself."

He didn't like to play his hand this hard or be so authoritative, especially with Swanwick. For the past five months since the Battle of Metropolis he'd felt like he was finally starting to earn the general's respect. But this was an innocent human girl, not a maniac alien, and the United States government had no right to treat her like a criminal. Because she obviously wasn't a criminal. Something had happened to her—something he couldn't even begin to understand—and she'd been in no more control of herself than he'd been as a confused child trying to adapt to Earth's environment and atmosphere.

After what seemed to Clark like a prolonged staring contest—one he knew he could win— Swanwick sighed and waved for another soldier to step up.

"Get me a secure line that can be protected and encrypted. And tell the guys in R&D to find some of those ultra-tinted goggles."

Clark released a long breath and gave Swanwick a quick, grateful nod. Swanwick just glared at him and turned back to the mirror.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: For some reason the line-breakers won't work with this chapter, I don't know what the problem is. It has worked with every other chapter :( There is a brief spot in this chapter where it switches from the military base to a news anchor, it may look a little confusing, but you'll probably figure it. XD Just... how do you do line breaks in this format and make them stick? If anybody has any knowledge in this area please let me know!

The stress was starting to play tricks on Nancy's vision again, but she refused to sit down until Superman came back. She was beginning to feel like she was in prison, of a sort. Asking for one phone call didn't have to be such a big deal, did it? Either way, she used the time while she waited to figure out who she should call. Who did she feel like talking to right now? Who would understand the best?

No one will understand, she suddenly thought, and the realization made her shiver. Not even her mother. Nancy's chest contracted, but before she could start crying again Superman entered the room and she was able to catch her breath.

"You're going to get your call," he said gently. "Sit down, Nancy . . . they'll be bringing something to help you with your eyes."

Somewhat reassured, she let him lead her back to the bed. In a few minutes another officer walked in with a box; Superman took it and pulled out what looked to Nancy like skiing goggles. She lay back, very still, as he fitted them over her head. Immediately he entire room was darkened, like tinted glass. She could still see; it simply hindered the chaotic mess of colors and, apparently, the x-ray vision.

"Better?" Superman asked.

"Better," she said, nodding a little. "Much better."

The nurse quietly stepped forward, saying the phone was ready. Nancy swallowed . . .

Superman took the receiver from the awaiting technician's hand, gently grasping Nancy's hand with his other hand. "Hold it carefully," he told the nervous young woman, "like it's more fragile than eggshells." They didn't need the girl accidentally breaking any equipment.

Nancy nodded and took it, her hand trembling slightly. Superman gave her shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze, which seemed to steady her a bit.

"What's the number you would want to call?" The general asked briskly, not liking to having protocol disrupted so badly. When Nancy gave the number for her parents' landline, he nodded to the technician who rapidly found all information pertaining to the relation and gave the general a thumbs up. Superman mentally rolled his eyes at how the government worked but watched with crossed arms as Nancy spoke on the phone.

She licked her lips nervously as she listened to the sound of the phone ringing. Come on, Mom… pick up, pick up…

"Hello?"

Tears stung Nancy's eyes as she clamped her free hand over her mouth, muffling a strangled sob. "Mom," she breathed. "Oh, Mom…"

"Nancy?" The voice of Melanie Jones blared through the receiver, the most welcome sound in the world. "Oh, Honey, are you okay?"

"I don't know, Mom…" Nancy barely choked out. She turned a bit, though not before casting a dark glance at all the onlookers. She wished they would all go away, give her some privacy.

"Nancy, where are you?"

"Mom, it's been awful," Nancy replied, feeling like she was very close to breaking down. Once again she wished everyone would go away. "I don't know what happened to me." She couldn't continue. A mixture of feelings welled up inside her now and her mind began to race. She suddenly realized she didn't even know where to begin explaining what had happened over the last couple of hours or so.

"Nancy, Honey, please tell me where you are," her Mom said.

Nancy's lips moved, but she couldn't find her voice. Her throat had tightened, as though smothering her ability to speak.

"Mom," another voice could be heard through the receiver, "is that Nancy?" It was Rachel. "Let me talk to her!" There was a mix of muffled voices, as though a short debate was transpiring, but Rachel had an uncanny knack for getting her way; she apparently got the phone.

"Nancy!" Rachel's voice chimed in over the phone. "Are you there?"

"Y-yeah," Nancy managed.

"Oh my gosh, Nancy," Rachel was saying, "We've been watching the news! They said your name! Did you really break through a brick building? Did you really hurt people?"

"Rachel," Melanie's voice scolded harshly, and she apparently took the phone back. "Nancy? Honey, please tell me where—"

Superman's hand moved in a flash, catching the receiver before it hit the floor.

When she dropped the phone in her shock, the guards all stiffened and reached for their guns while the technician cut the phone call. Superman sighed and reached out a single hand to try to comfort Nancy who hunched over with hands over her temple. The general turned in anger and pointed to one of the many soldiers.

"I want all footage pulled from the news now! Where is that PR?!"

"So you are saying that this was not Nancy Jones? It was a new robot that the military was testing? Isn't that dangerous?" the news anchor questioned the nerdy-looking PR agent. He smiled sheepishly and adjusted his tie. The news station had the screen on split to show both the agent and the anchorwoman, even though the agent himself was miles away in Washington D.C.

"Yes, and that is why the government and military have issued a full apology as well as being willing to pay for any and all damages done by our failed experiment," the PR spokesman said. The anchorwoman looked unimpressed.

"And the reports that this was Nancy Jones...?" she prodded.

"Coincidental. I can't go into the program as most of it is still classified, but we were trying to test it's ability to blend in the surroundings. It left the containment area however and we lost track of it briefly. The slip-up has been rectified however."

"Containment area?"

"A military term. The practice area, if you will."

Annabelle looked non-plussed. She turned to face the camera full on with a grim smile.

"I suppose we finally have our answer. Stay tuned to Station 7 for more info as we find out the full story of this 'mysterious robot'."

Nancy sank back to a seat on the edge of the bed and lowered her head so she stared at her hands, lying limp in her lap. Tears ran down her face and oozed through the goggles.

She was on the news. People all over America, possibly other places, had seen what she did. Her parents knew, her siblings knew, everyone knew. They might even think she was a murderer. Her life was ruined. No one would ever be able to trust her again.

She felt Superman's hand on her shoulder. For a moment she simply sat there, then she made a move to brush his hand away.

"I want to be alone," she said in a low, choking voice. "Please just go away. Stop looking at me! I want to be alone!"

The whole room was silent; nobody took their eyes off of her, nobody moved. Swanwick was in the room now with his soldiers and they were watching her, too, with their guns ready. It was like they all expected her to make an escape attempt at any second, and were prepared to defy her.

Then, to Nancy's surprise, Superman turned his head, leveled his gaze on Swanwick. The general returned the gaze, then sighed loudly and motioned for his men to back out of the room again. As the last soldier disappeared around the corner Superman then turned to the doctor and gave him the same stern, silent command. The doctor nodded and walked out, and so did the nurse. Finally, only Nancy and Superman were in the room. He turned to her, his face grave but understanding.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," he said.

She couldn't find her voice. She simply gave a small nod, and waited until he, too, left the room.

Once the door shut behind him, Nancy clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. She started sobbing. At one point she removed her goggles long enough to swipe away at her tears, but immediately regretted it; crying seemed to aggravate her vision problems, and she quickly put the goggles back on her head.

Mom always said that sometimes a woman just needed to have a good cry to feel better. Nancy had a feeling this problem wouldn't be solved by a good cry but it at least made her feel less smothered. Yes, that was the word for it. She felt smothered by the stress and the pain and the confusion.

Finally she drew a deep breath and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. Okay, Nancy, think clearly, she thought. You have alien powers now and that's why these people are so scared of you. They think you're a threat. And they're probably waiting outside that door. If you took off these goggles and used your new x-ray vision you'd probably see them all waiting in the hallway.

Nancy swallowed. She wanted to maintain her privacy for as long as possible. But they were going to come back in sooner or later, and how was she going to face them? What was she supposed to do next? How was she supposed to act?

Nancy gritted her teeth and smacked the bed in frustration. She leaped to her feet with a cry as her hand went right through the side.

Damn it! How was she ever going to function like this?! Did she have to treat EVERYTHING around her like it was made of brittle glass or soft marshmallows?

Clark used his own x-ray vision to watch Nancy through the closed door. He shut out the muffled voices of the men around him and ignored Swanwick's impatient, irritated remarks, focusing all his attention instead on the girl. When he heard her broken-hearted sobbing, it was all he could do to keep from going back and comforting her as best as he could.

But she probably didn't trust him anymore than she trusted these gruff military men who didn't understand her problems and never would. She wouldn't take any comfort from him.

Unless . . .

When Nancy's hand went through the bed and she jumped to her feet, Clark drew a deep breath. He set his hand on the doorknob, and without even motioning for the others to be quiet, spoke in a calm, measured tone. With her hearing, he wouldn't have to raise his voice.

"Nancy?"

He saw her stiffen, turn her head towards the door. Good, he thought, I have her attention.

"Nancy, I can help you. I'm from another planet far from this one and I came here when I was a baby. When I was a boy I struggled with the same kind of sensory overload you're dealing with right now. I can teach you how to control it . . . but you have to trust me, Nancy."

Nancy rubbed her arms, processing Superman's words. No wonder he seemed to understand her. If he had gone through this himself at one point, then he was able to sympathize with her. He didn't think she was insane or a murderer. He might be the only person in the world who didn't think that . . . but even one friend was better than none.

She slowly, almost experimentally, sank down onto the edge of the bed again. She slowly ran her hands across it, feeling the texture with the tenderness one might use when stroking a fragile baby bird.

Perhaps she could do this. She could learn to handle this. Superman had already gone out a limb to help her. He wouldn't give up on her after all he'd done for her so far. Besides, she was desperate at this point. Any kind word or look from anybody was worth more than anything else in the world.

"Okay," she finally murmured. "Could you . . . come back in? But just you."

The last sentence was firm. She wanted no one else coming in at the moment. Particularly the people who were just going to stare at her.

The door creaked open and Superman looked at her. For a split second she could see a couple of

officers standing behind him, but then he closed the door and stood alone in front of it. Nancy folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze squarely.

"Do you think you can trust me?" he asked softly.

She hesitated. "I—I think so."

He smiled a little. "I don't blame you if you don't right at first. Even my friend Miss Lane was scared out of her mind when she first met me."

Nancy frowned, puzzled and maybe a little intrigued, but he went on. "I'm here to help, Nancy, but you're going to have to comply with the military. They have the resources to help you, and they're only trying to protect you and the rest of the country until you know how to control your . . . your new gifts."

Nancy thought using the word "gifts" to describe her new abilities was stretching it a bit, but she didn't argue.

"The difference between you and I is that you're an adult, with adult strength. When I was going through this, I was only a child and my parents were careful to teach me how to control it from the very beginning. Until you learn to use your power, you're going to have to be very, very careful. But I'll be here to help you learn and adapt. It'll be okay . . . I promise."

Nancy let out a long, shuddering breath. The way he talked, it didn't sound like this would be easy. But if she could control it and go back home . . . well, that would be worth whatever hardship she might have to endure.

"I want to know if this will . . . wear off, or if it can be fixed," she whispered.

Superman shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know if it'll wear off. I've never seen a human with these powers. But I can assure you, you can control it."

His honesty both surprised and relieved her, and made her trust him more. If she could count on him to talk to her plainly about what she was going through, then she had a confidante. She nodded slowly.

"Okay. Okay, you can . . . you can bring the rest of them in."

He nodded and opened the door just a little, murmured Dr. Stan's name. Nancy lay back on the bed and tried to relax as the doctor and the nurse came back in.

"All right, Miss Jones," the doctor said in a somewhat kinder tone than before, "I will need you to take off your clothes."

Nancy stared at him, glanced at Superman. He met her gaze silently. Nancy set her teeth and looked at the doctor again, firmly.

"I am NOT taking my clothes off," she stated. "But I'll roll my sleeves up."

She did so, hoping that this gesture of cooperation would be good enough. She simply had no intention of giving all of the prying eyes a strip tease.

The doctor sighed with resignation and stepped forward, began the process of a basic check up. He checked her heart rate—"Normal," he told the nurse as she took notes—blood pressure—"Practically perfect"—reaction to stimulants—"light tap with the mallet produced no response, response gained only by striking kneecap with a fold-up chair." He tried to take a blood sample but the needle refused to pierce her skin.

Nancy tried to remain calm, though the signs of her new strength both baffled and frightened her.

When the doctor made to remove the goggles and earmuffs to test hearing and sight, however, she started to panic. She'd almost rather them take the goggles than the earmuffs.

"Allow me," Superman suddenly murmured to the doctor; Dr. Stan stepped back quickly and Nancy found herself looking up at Superman. His blue eyes were soft, but confident.

"We'll go ahead and start learning now, okay? Are you focusing on me, Nancy?"

She nodded frantically. "Yes, yes . . ."

"Take a deep breath. Calm down. It's okay." He rubbed her shoulder in a friendly, comforting way. "In order to hear properly, you need to pull your attention away from the world at large and focus on a small point. The same will go for your vision, but let's just work on the ears for now. When I pull one earmuff slightly off, you have to try and focus on just my voice, all right?"

Nancy didn't like the sound of any of this. She supposed part of her had subconsciously assumed that the headgear would just stay on, period . . . but did she seriously want to go around for the rest of her life with these things on her head? The memory of how everything looked and sounded before she had them made her shudder . . . but then she studied Superman's face, realized just how calm he was. Apparently he had to deal with the sounds and visual weirdness every day, and he seemed sane enough. He had learned to control it. He was master of himself.

Slowly, Nancy raised her own hands to the earmuffs. She was grateful for Superman's help, but she wanted to take some initiative herself, too. Whether she was being truly brave or just trying to show off, she wasn't really sure—but she simply yanked the earmuffs off altogether. Heartbeats, whispers, breathing, the sounds of clothing ruffling, all of it assaulted her all over again, but she gritted her teeth, trying to focus through it.

Okay, maybe that hadn't been such a bright idea. She held the earmuffs against her chest, trying hard to struggle through this. Come on, she could do this…

She heard a heavy thud as Superman's knee hit the concrete floor; he was kneeling beside the bed. His hand kept rubbing her shoulder. The sound of his skin against her sweater was almost deafening.

"Pull your focus back into a small area," his calm, slow voice intoned. "Focus only on what is in this room. Just you, me and Doctor Stan. If you can't control it, you'll need to put the earmuffs back on and try again, slowly. Focus now . . . you can do it, Nancy."

Nancy kept her teeth clenched and her eyes squeezed shut. She tried to focus on just one set of heartbeats, or perhaps on nothing at all, but it wasn't working.

She finally put the earmuffs back on, and blew out a frustrated breath. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't apologize," Superman said kindly. "You just need to take it slow. There's no shame in that."

"It's just . . . I like to do things myself. And I like to do them right—the first time."

He laughed softly, a pleasant sound. "Well, I can understand that. I'm the same way."

Once again Nancy felt herself relax. He understood; he was a friend. She allowed herself to smile for the first time since this horrible nightmare began, and raised her hand to the goggles.

"Let's try my eyes this time," she suggested.

"All right. Take it slow, though."

Very slowly, Nancy began to take the goggles off. She blinked several times, squinted, closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. She seemed to be focusing on just one thing. Her heart started pounding with hopeful excitement.

"Okay," she murmured, "I'm just . . . looking at the wall. It seems okay."

"Good. Now focus on the cabinet to your left. Just the outside, don't think about looking inside. Just focus on the gray of the cabinet."

Nancy hesitated, as if fearing any alteration of her gaze might ruin what little success she was having. She swallowed, continuing to stare at the wall for a moment, then slowly turned her focus as directed.

It was weird. Her visual senses penetrated the wall briefly as she turned her head somewhat toward the cabinet. She scowled, trying to focus simply on what was outside: the solid textures, the normal white-painted surface that normal human eyes would see.

Her eyes finally settled on the grey cabinet. The intensity of her stare increased as she tried harder to focus, just on the fine polished metal, not on anything inside or beyond it...

For just a second she felt a strange, increasing warmth behind her eyes—and then her vision distorted and two beams of red light suddenly burst out of her eyes. A burning pain behind her eyeballs made her scream and she squeezed her eyes shut again.

When she managed to open them again, the cabinet had a large burn on its surface. Dr. Stan gaped at her, his mouth wide-open. Even Superman stared at her, startled.

"What was that?" Nancy shrieked. "WHAT HAPPENED?!"

Clark almost jumped back when the girl's eyes glowed red. The last time anyone besides himself had used laser vision . . . Clark shuddered, remembering how Zod tried to incinerate the little family in the subway station, and how he, Clark, snapped the man's neck in a desperate attempt to save lives.

Heat vision was something that could be very dangerous and was never used lightly. Having a young woman with sudden, barely controlled powers being able to use it was NOT a good thing. Even Clark had to admit that.

Nancy's terrified screams, however, made him remember: she is NOT Zod. She is not evil, she is not doing this because she wants to. She needs help, but . . .

"What was that?!" he heard Swanwick bellowing outside. "How did she do that?! Get a secure room ready, we can't have her roaming about until we know exactly what happened and how she can do this! Move, move!"

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Nancy shrieked. "Let me go, let me go!"

She was trying to get off the bed. Clark moved fast. He put the goggles back over her head and set his hands firmly on her shoulders, pushing her back onto the mattress. Nancy writhed and fought him, sobbing and screaming. He knew he had only a small chance to get control of this entire situation, and if he lost it . . .

"Nancy! Nancy, lie still!"

She was still for a second, made one more attempt to lash out, then gave up. He was still stronger than her, thank God. Clark looked her in the eye and made his voice firmer and louder than she had ever heard it.

"Breathe. You have to breathe slowly. Let go, relax. That is a normal thing for those with these powers and it won't always happen. It comes only when you focus too strongly. You did a good thing, you were focusing only on the outside gray cabinet—but you have to calm down. If you don't, the military will end up taking drastic measures. It will be okay, you just have to calm down."

Clark leaned closer, keenly aware of the panic in her eyes as he spoke. He was aware, too, of the officers about to come in and escort her to a secure room. He wanted the girl in a better frame of mind before they acted.

Nancy had never been so scared in her whole life. Throughout this whole, horrific day she hadn't been so frightened as she had been the second she saw that burned cabinet. And for the first time she thought it would almost be better if she ran out of that room and those soldiers put a volley of bullets through her. Anything to end this nightmare . . .

Then she felt Superman's hands on her shoulders, pinning her down. He wouldn't let her go. He was telling her to calm down. For one brief second she hated him with a vengeance—and then she managed to look him in the eye and despised herself for thinking such a thing.

The hurried footfalls nearby and the agitated voices of the military personnel did nothing to help her calm down, but she did her best to focus simply on Superman. He was praising her for focusing. She'd done a good thing. A good thing! Is that the first good thing I've done all day? she thought bitterly.

His grip on her shoulders relaxed as she started to calm down, and slowly he straightened. Nancy stared up at him, still gasping and crying. She saw the soldiers coming out of the corner of her eye. They were coming to take her away.

Then Nancy suddenly did something she never would have done under normal circumstances, least of all with someone she barely knew. She bolted into a sitting position—but she wasn't trying to flee the room. She threw her arms around Superman's waist, pressed her head hard against his abdomen, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Perhaps she simply needed the support, to hold on to someone she couldn't burn, crush or throw across the room—or maybe she hoped he would protect her from the soldiers. Whatever it was, she clung to him for what seemed like a long time, not even caring how foolish she would have felt under any other circumstance.


	5. Chapter 5

The staff of the Daily Planet hovered around the four flatscreen TVs in the usually-chaotic bull-pen. The atmosphere today, however, was tense—tense and quiet—eerily similar to the night five months ago when an otherwordly transmission came over every television, phone, and computer on the globe.

Lois Lane stood at the rear of the cluster of journalists, watching the footage warily. It was rather ironic. Five months ago she'd been at the front of that crowd, feeling like she was General Zod's bulls-eye target. Today she'd rather keep all attention off herself. If she showed anything beyond casual interest in this story she'd be targeted again, and this time by everyone in this building.

"Look at that!" Steve Lombard cried, pointing at the screen. Lois glanced up from the papers she was stapling. The news station was showing the mysterious supergirl's path of destruction: smashed windows, a wrecked supermarket, a young man being carted off in an ambulance after being thrown into a dumpster.

"I wouldn't want to mess with her at all," young Jenny Olsen murmured with a shudder. "Lois, you don't think . . . you don't think she's one of those Kryptonians that fought Superman, do you?"

Lois hesitated, feeling the eyes of her co-workers on her. She drew a deep breath, nonchalantly tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I don't know, Jenny . . . but I doubt it," she began cautiously. "I'm pretty sure the Phantom Zone took all of the Kryptonians out of this world."

"Well, it didn't take Zod!" someone cried a little indignantly. "Who's to say this isn't another one of those creeps? And if we've got rogue aliens running around the place—"

"You heard the military," a booming voice snapped behind them. Everyone whirled. Perry White stood in the doorway of his office, scowling like the very sight of them gave him hives.

"The Pentagon is saying it was a robot," he said sternly. "Artificial intelligence that got loose. In my opinion the best thing the Daily Planet can do is accept the military's confession and not indulge any further speculation. Otherwise we're no better than tabloid papers—and we're not gonna stoop that low. Even for a story as strange as this. Everybody got that?"

"Yes, sir," the staff murmured.

"Do we have people on the ground in Minitropolis?" Perry asked.

"Cat Grant's gone," Lois said. "Mike Devon, too . . . he's been talking to military PR."

"Good," Perry said. "Lane, I want to see you. The rest of you, get back to work!"

The journalists quickly dispersed from the televisions, though they continued casting sidelong glances at the screens every few seconds. Lois tossed the stapled papers onto her desk and walked with long, energetic strides towards her boss. He opened his office door for her, closed it behind them both. Lois braced herself.

"Okay, Lane, what's your take?" he asked.

She smirked. "I thought you were discouraging any speculation about this, Perry."

Perry's eyebrow shot up. "I'm discouraging idiotic speculation—something you are completely incapable of. Look."

He gestured with his head towards the television set here in his office. Lois drew herself up as old footage of Superman walking into the damaged store came on the screen. In the midst of dull-green military trucks, SWAT teams in coal-black suits, and troops in camo uniforms, his cape and suit looked radiant. She watched as he bent his dark head and spoke in hushed tones to the troops before stepping over rubble and disappearing into the store.

"I'm assuming you saw that footage earlier," Perry said quietly.

Lois dragged her eyes from the screen and nodded. "Yeah, sure . . . we all did."

He folded his arms over his chest. "And you're the only one in this building who could possibly find out—from him—what's going on."

Now Lois raised her eyebrows. "Even if he did trust me enough to tell me what's going on, that doesn't mean he'll want the story published in tomorrow's issue."

Perry's tight scowl deepened. Lois held her breath. Ever since Clark Kent joined the Planet staff in a freelance position two weeks ago, Perry had alternated between respecting his secret and hoping his own personal curiosity would be satisfied. Lois' stubborn quiet about the young stringer's history was obviously getting under her boss' skin.

"Fine," Perry finally said, walking around his desk. "But I want you on the case. Let Mike Devon get the official military story. I want you to start digging deeper."

"But what about—" Lois began.

"Look, my little speech out there about idle speculation was aimed at the juniors and amateurs," Perry snapped. "They're fine reporters, I'm not saying they aren't—but they'd jumble a story like this. You've dealt with the military before, you know how to get to the root of their excuses. I want you to find out what's going on with this supergirl—and if you can't use Superman as a source then find someone else who'll spill the beans."

Lois let out the breath she'd been holding. "I'll get on it. I might have to go undercover, though

. . . so if you don't hear from me for the rest of the day—or tomorrow—don't panic."

"I won't," Perry said, a slight smile softening his grim face. "Good luck."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Clark was startled when Nancy hugged him. She was so scared and helpless, she'd been reduced to childlike behavior. And he couldn't help feeling an intense sympathy for her.

Thankfully, she managed to calm down enough for him to get down on her eye level and talk quietly to her, explain that they would be taking her to a different room now. It was important for her to be quiet and calm. No one would hurt her. He'd see to that.

And then he looked the soldiers in the eye, as if daring them to order him to stay away from Nancy. They gave him no trouble and let him lead the girl into the new, darkened room.

Now Nancy sat in the center of the room in a metal chair, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded tightly on the table in front of her. Clark stood just behind her left shoulder, monitoring her heartbeat. It was steadier than it had been all day, even if she still looked like she thought she'd break the room if she so much as exhaled incorrectly.

A stoic-faced man, slightly overweight, had just entered the room at Swanwick's command. Clark studied him quickly. The man wore a plain white shirt and a black pair of pants; his eyebrows were thin and his short hair was a sandy-brown color. From the look on his face, it was obvious that he all business and not happy. A pair of soldiers followed him in, apparently present

to serve as backup in case anything happened.

Clark glanced through the man's breast pocket at the ID badge hidden within and involuntarily drew in a surprised breath. Russell Holbrook. CIA agent. So they're brought in the big guns for this investigation.

Russell Holbrook gave the room a long, sweeping glance; his gaze locked on Nancy with a mix of contempt and curiosity, but not any obvious fear. Then he glanced at Clark, and Holbrook shot him a dirty look. Clark set his jaw, and for a few moments the two men engaged in a staring contest. Holbrook clearly wanted him to leave the room so he could interrogate Nancy alone. Clark had no intention of leaving her by herself.

Finally, however, Holbrook gave up. He shifted the heavy manila he held underneath his arm and jerked back the empty chair opposite Nancy's.

Nancy jumped at the loud scraping sound but made no other movement. She lowered her eyes to the manila folder. The stranger opened it, pigeonholing her with his keen hazel eyes, and Nancy spotted her name in the paperwork.

"What's that?" she asked hoarsely. It was the first time she'd spoken since the lasers shot out of her eyes.

"Well, Miss Nancy Fiona Jones," the man began, rifling through the papers with strong, thick figners, "it would seem that you've gotten yourself into a bit of trouble lately, hmm? Got yourself a bit of a past record too."

Nancy's hands unfolded and gripped the edges of the table. An ominous creak of the metal made her let go. Indeed, the area where her hands had been second ago now showed small, finger-shaped dents. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Superman frown, but he remained where he was.

"P-past record?" Nancy stammered. "Who are you? What do you know about me? I don't have a past record . . . d-do I?"

"To answer your questions in order: my name is Russell Holbrook, I've learned plenty about you over the past few hours, and yes, you do have a past record. A pretty long one, I might add."

"But I haven't done anything! I don't have a criminal record. I've never been to jail!" Every horror story she'd ever heard or read came flooding back to her now, about how it was possible for hackers to tamper with records, or for someone to be framed for things they didn't do. As if she wasn't in enough trouble already, how would she handle this?

"These documents say otherwise," Holbrook responded. "It would seem you've been a bad girl."

Nancy had to stop herself from squirming in her seat. "What did I do? What do those files say about me?"

Holbrook let out an exaggerated sigh and held up a few papers. "Let's see . . . stealing candy at age five . . . Jay walking at age thirteen."

Nancy blinked, torn between relief, amusement, and irritation. "That's it? I did steal a chocolate candy bar when I was five. Mom made me apologize. And I did get a ticket for jay-walking. I was trying to get to school on time. I missed the bus."

She stopped, looked hard at him through her goggles. "How do you even know about this, anyway? What else does those papers say about me?"

Holbrook held back the file, not letting her see what was written on it. "That doesn't concern you."

Big brother is watching you, Nancy thought. Her chair creaked as she leaned back, lacing her fingers together in her lap. Perhaps the government did spy on everyone. She simply hoped that he wouldn't make her relive her entire life story.

Over the next several minutes, however, she did find herself going over an uncomfortably large portion of her personal history, to the point where she felt just as frightened—maybe even more so—than she had when she found out that she'd been all over the news. This man apparently knew her parents' names, he had info on her extended family, he knew that she'd graduated High school with a B point average. He even knew that her cousin Stephanie had been in and out of the hospital twice within the last five years: once due to an accident on a motorcycle (which Stephanie had borrowed from Nancy's dad) and a second time when Stephanie and Nancy were riding together in a taxi, only to have it get hit by another car. Holbrook nitpicked that incident, noting how Stephanie had had a broken arm and several lacerations, yet Nancy apparently got out without a scratch or bruise.

"I guess I got lucky," Nancy said, flustered.

"Describe what happened." Holbrook's cut through the air like a knife and Nancy flinched. She glanced over her shoulder at Superman, but he simply met her gaze and kept quiet. Holbrook bristled as if Nancy's silent appeal to the alien annoyed him.

"Describe what happened, Miss Jones," he said even more sharply.

Nancy swallowed. "I—I was sitting in the back seat of the taxi. We stopped at a red light, and a car in the opposite lane swerved and hit us."

"The driver was drunk, yes?"

"Yeah." Nancy began scuffing the floor with her shoe.

"The report of the incident states that your cousin sustained a broken arm and multiple bruises and lacerations. The driver of the taxi sustained minor injuries, including a gash on his head." Holbrook's eyes narrowed. "Yet you walked away from the incident without a scratch."

Nancy wasn't sure how to respond. She shrugged, rubbed her elbows. "Stephanie and the driver got better . . ."

"Why did you go unhurt?" Holbrook prodded.

"I don't know. I mean, I guess . . . the drunk driver hit the front of the car on the driver's side and Stephanie was on that same side in the back seat. I was on the other side and—"

"Miss Jones," Holbrook said acidly, "were there any other instances when you escaped injury?"

"I . . . I don't know . . . I don't remember anything else . . . "

Holbrook smirked unpleasantly. "I think an average person like you would remember whenever they survived something that should have horribly injured or even killed them."

Nancy's temper flared. "I don't know how I got out of that wreck without a scratch! But I didn't have these powers then, I didn't! I only started being this way this morning!"

"Then what did you do this morning?" Holbrook snapped.

Startled, Nancy leaned back hard, to the point where the back of her chair bent behind her. Her mind started racing. What had she done this morning? She tried to remember and yet her memories seemed vague and fuzzy. She wondered if everything that had happened to her—and whatever had given her these powers—had given her amnesia.

"I went out for a walk, that's all," she said, her voice starting to break. "I was going to a job interview. Then . . . then something happened. I don't know what or how."

"Think, girl," Holbrook commanded. "Did you honestly just do nothing? You didn't experience anything? You didn't touch or taste anything? Nothing happened?"

Nancy shut her eyes tight and wracked her brain. She could see herself hugging her mom goodbye and leaving home. She remembered her taxi ride . . . another car spraying water all over her. It was shortly after that when her body seemed to go crazy. But she couldn't remember . . . she couldn't remember anything but the maddening confusion of her new powers . . .

"My patience is wearing thin," Holbrook said, breaking into her thoughts.

"I don't remember! I CAN'T remember! My head hurts!" Nancy wailed, tears stinging her eyes. She clapped her hands to her head and started to cry.

That was when Superman finally stepped in. He seemed to say something, perhaps about giving her some space or letting her think about it. But even Superman's voice gave her no comfort. Nancy had had enough. Too much strangeness for one day, too much pressure.

She got up so quickly that the chair flung behind her. Ignoring Holbrook's startled curses and Superman's urgent shout of her name, Nancy threw open the door and raced into the hallway.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

When Nancy jumped to her feet Clark dropped all semblance of being a mediator between the girl and military. He raced after her in a blur of red and blue just as the two soldiers stationed outside the interrogation room raised their automatic rifles and fired.

"NO!" Clark shouted, leaping in front of Nancy. The bullets ricoheted off his chest, pockmarked the ceiling above his head; the soldiers ducked in fright as damaged sheetrock and loose bullets rained down around them.

"D— it, Superman!" Swanwick bellowed, poking his head out of another room. "What are you doing?! She is a danger to the public, to herself and to others! We have to stop her!"

Clark whirled, looking to see where Nancy had gone, but she'd pummelled her way right through the hallway's dead end. Sunshine streamed through the gaping hole she'd created in the heavy brick wall.

"After her, quick!" Swanwick cried.

The nervous soldiers leaped to their feet again. Clark swerved on his heel again, set his teeth, and planted himself in the middle of the hallway. One of the soldiers tried to push past him; Clark grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back firmly.

"Everybody, stand back!" he shouted, fixing his eyes on Swanwick. "General, is what you're doing right?"

Swanwick's mouth fell open. "We're acting in the public and government's best inter-"

"But is it right?" Clark snapped. "Sending a CIA agent to interrogate her like she's a criminal, dredging up private information about her and shoving it into her face to intimidat her, treating her like you've completely forgotten she's just a frightened human being—tell me, Swanwick, is that how you'd treat your daughter if she was in this situation?"

Swanwick's Adam's apple moved up and down. "Maybe not, but we have a job to do. And if you want to become an enemy of the state, then so be it."

"If I'm declared an enemy of the state because I'm the only person here respecting an American citizen's basic rights, then so be it!" Clark retorted angrily.

Swanwick looked like he was going to bust a blood vessel. Before he could respond, Captain Farris raced into the hallway.

"Sir! We—we've lost sight of her, sir . . . she's gone into the forests surrounding the base and we can't keep track of her location!"

Clark held his breath. So Nancy could move fast, too. He wondered if she could fly if she put her mind to it. Swanwick, however, only groaned and rubbed his forehead, as if this news was giving him a migraine.

"Fine. We'll try to use different methods for finding out what was the cause of all this and how to adjust for it. You can help find her so we don't have any other emergency situations on our hands," he added, eyes locking angrily on Superman.

"I'll search for her," Clark said, still angry, "because I care about what happens to her. Not because you're ordering me to, General."

Swanwick shot him a dirty look but made no reply to this and continued barking orders. The soldiers started to rush about, trying to get orders done as fast as they could while Clark ran through the hole Nancy had smashed through the wall and shot off into the sky.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The last time Nancy had allowed herself to run, she'd been disoriented and blinded by her new freaky vision. Thanks to her new head gear, however, she wasn't hampered this time by the cacophony of noise or x-ray vision. And she could run fast.

When she reached the edge of the base parameter, she slammed right through a thick fence like it were made of straw. The force of the impact slowed her for a few seconds but left her unscathed. She wasn't even bruised. She just threw back her head and ran even faster, hands clenched and legs pumping, towards the thick green forest surrounding the base.

Trees blurred together, branches whipped past her; some of them snapped. Bushes seemed to part their way for her, occasionally leafy clumps would smack her in the face. Eventually, however, the trees began to thin as she came up to a thin, worn dirt path. It was too wide to be a simple forest trail, though too far out of the way to be considered worthy of paving or maintaining by the state. It was easy to see where rain had washed away portions of it, and there were ruts and holes galore.

Nancy stopped, glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise the base was further away than she'd expected. She cautiously lifted her goggles, tentatively used her new ability to zoom in on an object. Men were running around the base like tiny frantic ants, and a helicopter was lifting up from a launch pad. They were getting ready to look for her, no doubt about it. Superman was no where to be seen.

Nancy felt a dull ache of regret in her chest. Superman had been kind to her. He'd really seemed to care about her when everyone else treated her like she was a monster. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and put her goggles back on. If she ever saw him again, she'd thank him. But now she had to get moving.

She set off in a brisk walk, deciding to conserve her strength until she heard helicopters overhead or men on the path behind. A new problem, however, soon caught her attention. Despite the earmuffs, she could still pick up traces of sound, even distant ones; she simply had to focus harder to hear it. Frowning, she cautiously lifted the muff away from her left ear, gently, and put it back almost immediately. Yeah, it sounded like someone was nearby . . . and their car engine was straining.

She walked alongside the road, keeping close to the overgrown vegetation in case she needed to make a quick getaway. With her luck, it was probably some government people out looking for her and they'd gotten stuck. It would serve them right.

When she reached the scene, however, she found only a large blue car that had gone off the road and into a ditch. It looked like the kind of vehicle that could handle some pretty rough terrain, but nothing could go that deep into a ditch and expect to come out. A young man stood by the car, trying to dial a number onto his smartphone and obviously having a hard time getting good reception.

Nancy frowned. It would probably be best to simply keep moving further away from the base, so she wasn't sure what made her start walking closer to the car instead. Perhaps it was the look of desperation on the young man's face. She knew what it was like to be in a hopeless situation, even if hers was drastically different.

The young man glanced up as she got closer. He had short brown hair, a clean-shaven face, and wore a gray sweater with black pants. He probably wasn't more than a couple of years older than her.

"Oh, hey," he said, in a friendly but worried voice, "you wouldn't happen to have a cell phone, would you? Mine can't get through."

"I wish," Nancy said with feeling. If she had a phone, she would've called her mother by now. She wanted nothing more than to hear Mom's voice again.

The man sighed. "Well, I guess I'll just have to walk. You wouldn't happen to know where the nearest—"

"Look, I don't know where anything is," Nancy said, somewhat grouchily. "I'm just trying to figure out where I am and get home."

"You're lost too, huh?" Understanding and sympathy filled his handsome face. "Did your car get stuck somewhere?"

"Yeah . . . uh, I mean, no. My bike got a flat. Doesn't matter, it was a piece of junk anyway." A thought occurred to her. Apparently she could bend metal and break things when she ran through them. If she had that kind of strength . . .

"Let's try to get your car out of the ditch," she said, trying to sound more friendly. The young man's eyes widened in surprise as she moved closer to the car and eased her way behind it.

"You've gotta be kidding," he said with an incredulous chuckle. "That thing's stuck. It's gonna need a tow line to get it out!"

Nancy forced a smile. "Come on, what can it hurt? Let's just try it."

She could've easily made the attempt alone. It would be easier and he couldn't add much to her strength anyway. But perhaps if she put on the help-the-weak-little-woman act, it might ward off some suspicion.

"You're crazy," the young man said, but something about her smile won him over. "We'll try, but it's not gonna work."

Soon they were side-by-side in the ditch, pushing. He huffed and pushed, and was quite surprised when the car started to move, even despite the impossibly steep angle. Suddenly encouraged, he redoubled his efforts.

When the car finally emerged from the ditch, once again on level ground, he let out a whoop and hugged Nancy—rather impulsively. "We did it! I didn't think it was possible, but we did!"

She smiled at him in a reserved way. She permitted the hug, though she didn't return it; she didn't trust herself not to hurt him.

"So, can you give me a lift?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, sure. Get in!" He was all smiles now, relieved that he was no longer stranded in the middle of nowhere. Moments later, both were seated and strapped in. As he drove them down the road, he started talking.

"My name's Jack, by the way. I'm up here to visit my brother and his family, they own a farm out here." He sighed. "Unfortunately my brother's not that great at giving directions—and as you've seen my phone's not very reliable. I've been lost around here for hours."

"I don't know this area very well either. Wish I could help," Nancy said, smothering her disappointment. She'd been hoping he was on his way out of this forest, toward Metropolis, but apparently he wasn't.

Jack sighed. "Well, I'll find it eventually. When I do, I'll ask if you can stay with us for dinner at least. I know they have an extra room."

"That would be nice," Nancy said, smiling in spite of herself. Indeed, it was a tempting offer… she just hoped no one would come looking for her there.

"Hey, what's with the get up, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"Those glasses, or whatever that is . . . and that helmet. Why are you wearing that?"

Nancy blushed. She'd almost forgotten about the head gear. "Well, uh . . ."

Just then, the soft music playing on the radio was interrupted with a bulletin. "Just in, breaking news: A young woman in military custody has escaped confinement in the Metropolis Air Force Base. She is approximately five foot four with shoulder-length black hair, last seen wearing a black sweater and blue jeans. She will most likely be wearing a helmet and goggles due to hearing and vision problems. She is considered extremely dangerous. Authorities encourage you to report any sightings of this woman—"

Jack's foot had already hit the brake pedal. He stared at the girl beside him. Nancy lost her cool composure and looked at him desperately.

"I helped you! Look, it's not my fault they're after me!"

"Okay, so what did you do?" Jack asked warily. "Why do they want you?"

Nancy opened her mouth, then closed it. "Forget it." She pressed her mouth into a thin line, and

moved to open the door. Instead, she knocked it off of its hinges; the door fell onto the ground.

Jack yelled something. Nancy didn't even try to explain; it would be pointless. She got out of the car and started running. If he'd been nervous of her before, he was terrified now. And she felt incredibly grateful that he had no cell phone; he couldn't rat on her until she'd put plenty of distance between them.

Nancy alternately walked and ran, ducking into the brush when a helicopter roared overhead. She came upon a stream and cupped her hands for a quick drink. Her heightened sense of taste picked up minerals and dirt in the water, but she was too thirsty to care. Her sweater felt hot in the sun, but as the hours dragged on and the shadows began to change, the temperature started to drop and she was thankful she'd dressed warmly for the day.

Eventually she came to a place where she could see mountains in the distance. That jogged her memory; there was a picturesque range of small mountains on the very edge of Minitropolis. If she could got over them, maybe she could reach home. Nancy smiled slightly and quickened her pace.

If nothing else, perhaps she could lose herself in those mountains, for at least a while. She doubted it would be very easy for anyone to find her there.


	6. Chapter 6

Clark floated high in the air, his head back and the wind rushing by, stirring his dark curls and the shimmering red cape. Holding both arms out to form a 'T', he waited in the sky, slowly adjusting his hearing so he could pick up all sounds once more. By slowly branching out, he could control and focus on the sounds, searching for any hint of Nancy Jones' whereabouts.

He wasn't concerned so much for her physical safety as for her sanity. It wasn't hard to put himself in her shoes. Memories of Miss Rampling's third grade class came back to him and he could hear again the thud of a pencil against a desk, red-headed Pete Ross chewing gum, Miss Rampling's blood pulsing through her veins. He had been so terrified, he'd staggered out of the classroom and locked himself in the janitor's closet.

Just like Nancy had staggered through the supermarket and then cowered, frightened and crying, in the bathroom.

The difference between them was that Clark, at least, had had the calm, quiet voice of his earthly mother to comfort him. He'd tried to repeat her gentle counsel to Nancy and for a time it had seemed to work. Nancy had made a genuine effort to control her new powers. But how could she focus on anything when the people around her were treating her like she was a rabid animal? She was no more rabid than he had ever been.

Clark sighed wearily. His experience with women had been very limited over his thirty-three years, and none of the women he'd known had ever been in as unstable a situation as Nancy Jones. He was starting to wonder if he was handling her properly, or if he was just making an emotional situation worse. It would nice to have a woman's opinion. His mom's . . . or . . .

Lois.

The roar of helicopter blades and a deep, commanding voice bellowing through a loudspeaker the name of Nancy Jones interrupted his thoughts. Clark's blue eyes flew open and he glanced down in alarm at the forest beneath him. He took off in a streak of red and blue, guessing that Nancy couldn't be that far away and hoping the military hadn't taken drastic measures.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Nancy had been traveling for more than two hours. The nearest mountain drew closer and closer as she ran, and she became increasingly enthralled with the sensation of moving as fast as car. Maybe, just maybe, being like this had its benefits. She wouldn't need to rely on ordinary transportation, at least.

But on second thought, the cons still outweighed the benefits. The military was obviously going to hound her for the rest of her life, unless she could learn to be discreet. Yeah . . . she'd give up all of this so-called power for just to be normal again. Just quiet, ordinary Nancy Jones, who had her whole life ahead of her and a family who loved her. Her eyes stung at the thought; she blinked hard, sucked in her breath, and told herself not to think too much about Mom. Not until she was over the mountains.

An intensifying roar and chop-chop-chop sound startled her; before Nancy could jump into the bushes a helicopter hovered in her direction. She hesitated in her stride, peering up at it.

"Nancy Jones!" a voice in a loudspeaker bellowed down at her. "This is the United States military. You are surrounded. Surrender and put your hands above your head!"

Nancy's breath caught. She focused on the helicopter and saw a massive gun trained on her.

No, she thought, her temper flaring high. I am not going to stop, I am NOT going back to that base, I AM GOING HOME! She gritted her teeth and started running faster than she had since she escaped the base.

Again the landscape around her turned into a blur. Again she was shocked at how fast she could move. The helicopter, however, was also fast, and the men inside weren't giving up. Nancy reached the base of the mountain and began scrambling upward, attempting to lose herself amongst the rocks and bushes. Two shots were fired; maybe they were warning shots, maybe not. She wasn't taking any chances, and this only fueled her attempts to escape and hide even as they called for her to cease and desist.

Higher and higher she went, scrambling this way and that, no longer having a particular direction in mind; she simply wanted to get out of sight. The chopper continued to pursue, but found it increasingly difficult to stay close due to her keeping to the shadows and clefts.

Nancy felt a stitch growing in her side as she clambered out on a ledge. Too late she realized it was a dead end. Gasping, she looked over her shoulder only to see the chopper coming from the opposite direction. She had nowhere to go.

Nancy whimpered, started hyperventilating. She looked down. Oh Lord, it was such a long, long way down . . .

"Nancy Jones, surrender!" the voice roared again.

Nancy stared at the chopper, then looked down again. She jumped, releasing an ear-splitting scream on the way down.

The wind screamed in her ears and tore her hair back from her face, forcing her eyes and mouth to shut tight. Nancy's heart felt like it was in her throat. And then, without warning, she found herself tumbling and banging against solid, jagged rocks and gritty sand until she landed in a heap of her own arms and legs.

She lay still for a moment and gasped for breath. She opened her eyes. The mountains were high above her and blocked most of the fading afternoon sunlight. She'd obviously fallen into a ravine or something . . . some deep, narrow crevice between two mountains. A few seconds ago the helicopter had seemed so huge and threatening; now it looked very tiny up in the sky. It hovered there above the ravine for what seemed like eternity . . . and then turned and headed back in the direction of the base. Nancy released a sobbing breath and forced herself into a sitting position.

"I can't believe . . . I'm alive," she groaned aloud as she rubbed the back of her head. Any other human would have had a terribly shattered body after that rough tumble, but not her. As she drew her legs up, however, she drew in a sharp breath. Her ankle felt like it was on fire. Nancy reached down and pulled her pants leg up and her sock down; she touched her ankle gingerly and hissed through her teeth at the throbbing pain.

She glanced around. She was surrounded by bushes and tall weeds, and hopefully the mountains had successfully shielded her from unfriendly eyes. The jolt of her tumble had left her feeling somewhat stunned and she obviously wasn't going to walk anytime soon. Nancy let out a sigh and allowed herself to go limp, resting her head atop her arms.

That's when she realized she was wearing neither her goggles nor her earmuffs. Nancy gasped, terrified, and looked around. The earmuffs were only a few feets away, thank God. In spite of her pain she crawled over to them and grabbed them desperately. The goggles were nowhere to be seen. Well, that was okay . . . she needed the earmuffs more anyway.

Nancy laid back down, feeling more secure with her ears covered. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, too tired to realize that, for a few short moments, she'd gone without any sensory protection whatsoever, without being overwhelmed. She'd been too focused on her pain and the helicopter to let her senses go haywire.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Clark flew as fast as he could towards the military helicopter. When he heard the gun fire he felt sick with dread, but he kept going, picking up speed, until he heard a sharp shrill scream that seemed to grow more and more distant.

Then he froze in the air, horrified. If they had killed her . . . He almost shot off in the direction of the helicopter, then thought twice, decided against it. He watched, his heart pounding, as the helicopter came to a standstill over a ravine, then slowly turned back in the direction from which it and he had both come. Clark quickly darted up and out of the helicopter's way, taking refuge behind a wispy cloud until they were gone. Then he ventured into the open air again and looked towards the ravine.

What kind of government would put one of its citizens to death without a fair trial? Clark's chest burned angrily—and sadly—at the thought. If they'd killed her, then he'd find her body himself, without them monitoring him or taking her corpse off for scientific experiments, and take it to her family. It was the least he could do for a family whose lives had probably been turned upside down in just a few hours.

Bracing himself, he flew towards the ravine. It was pretty dark down there, but he strained his vision and his sense of hearing, desperately searching for any sign that Nancy was alive. To his surprise and overwhelming relief, he heard her whimpering and even caught the fast thud-thud-thud of her heartbeat; through the gloom he caught sight of her crawling, painfully, towards her earmuffs. He watched her put them back on her head, noted that her goggles were gone. Nancy didn't seem to be seriously hurt, though. Clark shook his head in wonder.

She's pretty tough.

Satisfied for now, Clark thought fast. Nancy was fine for now . . . he'd come back to her, but for now he was going to have a few words with Swanwick.

And this time, the kid gloves were coming off.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Excuse me, Superman, but General Swanwick is having a press confer—" Captain Farris tried to explain hastily. Clark hated to be rude, but for once he ignored her and slammed the closed doors of the conference room open with his palms.

Several journalists sat in the conference room, their notepads, iPads, and laptops open in front of them; everyone jerked their heads around at Superman's sudden entrance. Clark caught sight of Mike Devon, one of the guys from the Daily Planet. He scanned the room quickly for any sign of a slender, smartly-dressed young woman with intelligent blue eyes and ginger-red hair—but Lois Lane was nowhere to be seen. Clark smothered his disappointment and turned his eyes instead to Swanwick, who stood behind a podium with a look of profound irritation on his face.

"General, I need to talk to you," Clark said sternly.

Swanwick cleared his throat, glanced meaningfully at the assembled journalists. "I really don't think this is an appropriate time—"

"It can't wait," Clark interrupted.

Swanwick sighed, nodded to the journalists, and stepped down. Clark slammed the door behind him; except for Captain Farris who watched, wide-eyed, they stood alone in the hallway.

"Pull back the search," Clark ordered, keeping his voice low and level. "Now."

Swanwick looked like Clark had just ordered him to replace all military vehicles with unicorns. "You have lost your mind."

"No, it's your men who have lost their minds," Clark hissed, pointing an indignant finger at the general. "They shot at her without provocation. I saw it, I heard it, and I won't have an innocent girl killed because it makes you nervous that she has these kinds of abilities."

"For God's sake, Superman—"

Clark raised his hand for silence. For once, Swanwick clamped his mouth shut. He still glowered at the younger man but there was an anger in Superman's fierce blue eyes that he didn't really care to aggravate.

"I'll find her and keep an eye on her," Clark said. "I promise. After I've trained her to control her powers, then I'll bring her back for you to evaluate her and declare her a harmless citizen again. But don't you dare come after me, Swanwick. If you send anything after either of us I will smash it like I smashed that drone."

Swanwick said nothing in response but Clark saw the comprehension flood into his eyes. Only a month had passed since Clark destroyed the drone the military was using to track his movement.

"I'm serious, Swanwick," Clark added sternly. "Don't try my patience."

He whirled on his heel and marched back outside without waiting for a reply. The personnel he passed all made way for him or stared after him with varying degrees of awe, admiration, and annoyance. Clark ignored them all until he was outdoors; then he pushed off with one foot and shot into the sky, heading back to the ravine where Nancy lay hidden.

0o0o0o0o0o0

When Nancy woke up it was dark in the ravine. She lifted her head and glanced around. Her new powers had obviously given her some kind of night-vision; in spite of the darkness she could still make out her surroundings pretty well.

She pushed herself back into a sitting position, but gasped in pain when she moved her foot. Her shoe felt unbearably tight. Clenching her teeth, Nancy wrestled her shoe off and removed her sock. The cold air felt good on the hot, swollen skin.

Nancy leaned back and rubbed her forehead, going over the tumultuous events of the day. She still didn't know what had happened to her or why—or how. THAT was the real mystery, which she couldn't answer herself any more than she could her interrogators. She couldn't remember what triggered these powers. It had to be something that happened in that fuzzy stage between the taxi ride and the moment Superman found her in the supermarket bathroom . . .

All she knew was that she'd become a slightly-inferior version of Superman, and she was being treated like she was some kind of monster because of it. She terrified people, and she terrified herself. And now the military obviously wanted her dead. They wouldn't have shot at her from a helicopter if they didn't think it was their last resort.

She wished she could just disappear. She did not want to go back to the military base. And now, the longer she thought about it, she was too afraid to go home. The military would trace her there . . . and if she hurt her family she'd never forgive herself.

She heard a twig snap and gasped, frightened. She whirled as best as she could, but saw nothing, only heard soft, heavy footsteps moving in her direction. Her heart pounding, Nancy cowered on the ground, covered her arms with her head, and kept her eyes shut, barely breathing.

The footsteps stopped. Nancy opened her eyes, looked up. She recognized the high red boots and the blue suit and the winding red emblem on the man's broad chest. Superman looked down at her with an expression of deep pity and concern on his young face.

For a split second Nancy almost gasped in wonder and relief. Then, almost as quickly, her heart sank. She'd been found. So much for her hopes for complete solitude.

"Are you all right?" Superman asked, his deep voice soft and kind.

Nancy didn't answer. She still lay in a fetal position, her hands clenched underneath her chin, and watched him warily. Superman squatted down in front of her, his cape pooling on the ground behind him.

"Are you going to make me go back?" Nancy asked. She was glad to hear the belligerence in her own tone. She had nothing against him, but she didn't have any intention of going back either and wanted him to know it.

To her relief, however, Superman only smiled and shook his head. Dry humor tinged his voice when he spoke.

"Make you go back? Not at all. They don't seem to know how to treat a guest, so we'll just wait until they remember proper manners."

Nancy smiled a little, amused by his sarcasm. She propped herself up on her elbow and sat up again, but she still winced and gasped when she moved her leg. Superman glanced at her foot, concerned.

"I think it's broken," Nancy muttered. She would've preferred to disguise the pain and act like nothing was wrong, especially around him, but it hurt too bad.

Superman reached out and gently laid his hands on her foot. Nancy held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut as the pain shot up her leg.

"Sorry," Superman murmured, staring intently at her foot; she realized he was using his x-ray vision to examine her. "Well, you're almost right . . . you've got a fracture. But I have good news."

"Yeah?" Nancy gasped.

"If you're like me and you have all the strength I think you have, it shouldn't take you more than a few days to heal."

He sounded cheerful and optimistic, but Nancy took little comfort from his words. "You're like me," he'd said. She was like a Kryptonian. But unlike this guy, who'd been able to keep his existence a secret until General Zod came barging in looking for him, the whole world knew who she was and what she could do. She drew her good leg up to her chest, setting her chin on her knee.

"They shot at me," she said stiffly. "Those snoopy people act like they know all about me but they don't even know me. What did I ever to do them? I . . ."

Her voice started to rise; she stopped, catching herself, and dropped her forehead on her knee so Superman couldn't see her face. "I know I hurt people, but I really, really didn't mean to! I didn't even know what I was doing! Why did this happen to me? Why did . . ."

She seemed to run out of words. She lifted her head but still turned her face from him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

Clark frowned as he heard the panic slipping into Nancy's tone. When she grew quiet, he decided on a slightly different tactic.

"I've always had these powers ever since I could remember," he said quietly. "I was raised here on Earth. I learned to be human. But sometimes, while I was learning, people did get hurt. The important thing is that my dad and mom told me to keep trying."

Nancy wiped her nose with her dirty hand and sniffed. Clark sighed and glanced around, abruptly stiffening as his ears caught the sounds of people tramping through the woods. Didn't sound like they were with the military . . . they were most likely ordinary, curious citizens looking for the dangerous supergirl.

Clark turned to Nancy again and saw that she, too, sat ramrod-straight and alert. She heard them, too. She cast him a desperate, pleading look. He rubbed her arm.

"Why don't we find someplace a little more private to talk? Somewhere you can rest that ankle for a while?"

Nancy nodded eagerly. "Got someplace in mind?"

"I do. A nice little cave at the top of that mountain. Ready?"

Again Nancy nodded and tried to stand up. Clark stopped her, quickly but gently scooping her into his arms. She gasped in both surprise and discomfort, but it didn't take her long to relax; figuring that was a good sign, Clark rose a few feet off the ground. Nancy glanced down, awed, and then smiled excitedly. It was the first time he'd seen her actually look happy.

He traveled parallel to the mountain, following its ascent to a cave he'd spotted. It was mostly hidden by large boulders, and too high up for the volunteer searchers to notice. He carefully set Nancy on the ground; she grunted a little but tried hard to mask her discomfort.

"I'm going to get some firewood," he said. "No point in freezing out here."

She nodded in agreement. In truth the cold didn't bother Clark at all, but Nancy was obviously more sensitive to the temperature; she was rubbing her arms for warmth. He dashed out of the cave and came back again with his arms loaded with as many branches as he could gather in five minutes. In the center of the cave, far enough from the opening so no one would spot it, he lit some of the branches with his own heat vision. When the slender red beams hit the branches Clark noticed Nancy flinch. He pretended to ignore it and gave his head a little shake to clear it.

"That's not my favorite ability," he admitted. "I try to use it as little as possible."

Nancy raised an eyebrow. "So, like, have you ever burned up the outside of a cabinet like I did today?"

Clark chuckled, lowered himself to a seat beside her with his arms folded over his bent knees. "One time I locked myself up in a closet at school. When my teacher tried to force her way in, I heated up the doorknob. Let's just say that knob got a little hot and she backed off."

Nancy smiled, amused. Clark grinned back and stared into the flames. "Thankfully I've used it in more mature ways, too. When I was a boy and lived on a farm, I used it to start bonfires for my father. And then when my . . ." He hesitated, felt his face flush a little in boyish embarrassment. "When my girlfriend was hurt last year, I cauterized her wound. And I had to use it to fight Zod."

"Girlfriend?!" Nancy repeated, eyes widening.

Clark pointedly avoided her gaze. Nancy's curiosity was piqued. Good. That was exactly what he wanted. He deftly turned the conversation back to their mutual strength.

"Anything you can do, Nancy, I've had ever since I was a little boy, but with a greater intensity. I can help teach you some techniques to get more control over this, but you'll need to be calm . . . and I understand 'calm' isn't something you've felt all day. But the people you hurt are going to be fine. And you can learn how live the rest of your life without hurting others."

Nancy frowned and drew her eyes from him, thinking. The short period of training he'd given her at the base had proven that she could learn, that she could focus. But even so . . .

"I don't think the military or government are ever going to stop watching me," she said slowly. "They're not going to just let me go back to a normal life, are they?"

Clark was silent for a long moment. He knew his next words would have a large impact and either hamper her or help her get a hold of herself, so he chose them carefully.

"Your life is never going to be exactly the same, Nancy," he began slowly, looking her in the eye. "Even I've had to deal with them spying on me. But if you learn to control your new abilities, you may be able to have a . . . more reasonable life."

Nancy lowered her dark head dejectedly. Clark leaned forward, a new option coming to mind.

"If we could trace what gave you these powers, we might be able to find a way to reverse it. But that can only happen after you gain control of them and if you can remember what started this."

Nancy looked at him out of the corner of her eye as he spoke, then stared at the ground. She grimaced as Agent Holbrook's harsh interrogation ran through her mind again.

What had started this? What had she been doing before it happened? Was it something she ate? Or something she touched?

Something I touched . . .

"There . . . there was a . . . a crystal."

She hadn't even realized she said it aloud until Superman looked at her sharply. Nancy lifted her head and met his eyes, narrowing her own as she struggled to concentrate and wade through the mist of her damaged memory.

"Yeah, there was a crystal," she said. "I think I found it on the side of the road, in Minitropolis. It was . . . glowing. It had a piece of metal or something attached to it. When I touched it, it um . . ." She shuddered, trying to find a word to describe the sensation. "It was like it gave me an shock. Like when you touch an electric fence. Then it went dark, and I threw it aside. It was after that when I started to . . . you know, change."

Clark frowned, lowered his eyes to the stony floor of the cave. Nancy watched him nervously. It was obvious he was considering her word. Finally he drew a deep breath and stood. Nancy stayed where she was, looking up at him.

"I'm going to see if I can find this crystal," he said. "Was it near where you first encountered the police? Main Street and East Street?"

"I—I don't know," Nancy said honestly. "I lost all sense of direction when I couldn't see straight or hear myself think. But I know I got out of my taxi on Broadmoore. I don't think it was far from there."

Clark nodded. "All right. I'll see if I can retrace your steps and find it . . . and I may stop by a friend's place to ask for her advice—"

"Your girlfriend?" Nancy asked, and there was a hint of teasing in her voice. He gave her an amused smirk and didn't answer the question.

"In the meantime, I think it would be a good idea if you keep practicing with your earmuffs. You seem to be doing better with your eyes at least." He smiled warmly and patted her shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but it might be closer to morning. You'll be fine as long as you keep the fire going. Just stay here, all right? Don't leave the cave."

"Don't worry," Nancy said, gesturing towards her swollen foot; in the firelight, they could both see it had turned a ghastly shade of purple. "I could get very far even if I wanted to."

"True," Clark said, sighing. He really did need to get her something for that foot . . . pain meds and something to brace it or immobilize it. Lois could at least help him with that. "Take care, Nancy."

"Take care, Superman," Nancy murmured.

0o0o0o0o0

She watched him go and sat quietly for several minutes. He was right: she did seem to be doing okay with her eyes. It still gave her a headache whenever her vision veered through the stone wall or involuntarily zoomed towards the mountain on the opposite side of the ravine . . . but it wasn't so bad.

Wincing, she slowly raised her hands and took off the earmuffs. Chaotic noise—wind, distant voices, the hum of the city on the other side of the range—assaulted her ears, and she found herself putting the muffs back on.

Over the next twenty minutes, however, she alternated between taking them off and putting them back on. She was rather proud of herself when she was able to keep them off for five full minutes before the noise was too much. By the end of her "practice session," there was an eager, pleased look on her young face.

A sudden noise—footsteps—very close to the cave caught her attention. Nancy glanced up sharply, and realized the footfalls were coming closer. She tensed, worried that someone else had found her—someone potentially antagonistic—but then she realized something.

Four sets of feet padded the ground, not two.

She sat up straighter, waiting, until a very handsome, long-furred animal entered the mouth of the cave. It looked like a wolf, and it was limping. Judging from the bloodied and chewed up nature of its hind leg, it looked like it had forcefully escaped a steel-jawed trap. It whimpered as it dragged itself along, attracted, perhaps, by the warmth and light of the fire. Which made her think it wasn't really a full-blooded wolf. A wild animal wouldn't dare come close to a human like this one did.

"You poor thing," Nancy murmured sympathetically. "Are you okay?"

She clicked her tongue and scooted a little closer. The creature drew back and snarled.

"Hey, it's okay," she said, stretching out her hand. "It's okay, I'm not gonna—"

It reacted by snapping at her arm. Nancy jerked her hand back too late—but her alarm faded as the creature's fangs slid harmlessly over her newly-toughened skin. The animal staggered from the effort and plopped down on the stony floor, whimpering and licking its wounded leg. Nancy

scooted a little closer.

"I'm having a bad day, too," she said softly. "And there's a few people I really want to bite right now. But I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?"

Again she slowly reached out; it growled, but took a moment to sniff her hand.

"Do you live in this cave? Is this your home? Come on, we can hang out in here together. Just let me take a look at your leg."

She touched its side; the dog's eyes flashed and it leaped at her throat. Nancy caught it, allowing it to knock her over as its teeth knocked harmlessly against her throat. She held it in a bear-hug, waiting until pain and exhaustion caught up with it, trying to keep her hurt foot immobile and failing miserably. When it finally ceased struggling, Nancy unclenched her teeth, stretched out her leg again, and carefully settled the dog's heaving body in her lap. Petting its head soothingly with one hand and holding the dog still with her other arm, she tried to look at its injured foot.

"Looks like you're missing one of your toes . . . that's gotta hurt." Nancy glanced around for anything that could be used as a bandage. Her own sweater was the only option. She ripped the hem all the way around in a strip, and then, still speaking in a soothing whisper, began to wrap the heavy black wool around the bleeding paw. The dog breathed heavily but made no further resistance.

When Nancy had tucked in the end of the strip, she ran her hand along the smooth fur and tried to focus her hearing on the dog's heartbeat. It pounded—the creature was obviously frightened—but the longer she talked and petted, the heartbeat slowed and the dog finally released a long, tired breath. Nancy smiled to herself. Maybe she was still capable of gentleness after all.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Before I forget to mention again, this fic is co-authored with The Patriette. Just wanted to make sure I made a proper mention of it this time. :D She also put together the cover image of this fic hehe XD

Less than an hour later Clark found himself walking down the darkened streets of Minitropolis. He no longer wore the brilliant cape or the steel-blue suit, hiding his massive frame instead underneath a pair of old blue jeans and a Kansas Royals sweatshirt that looked like it was about ten years old. He'd made a quick stop his tiny apartment in Metropolis for this outfit; he had no intention of attracting anymore attention to himself for the rest of this long, stressful day. Slung over his shoulder was a battered knapsack; his suit and cape were hidden there, along with some food to bring back to Nancy.

He knew from all the reports where the girl first showed her newfound strength. She first met up with the police at the corner of Main and East. She'd told him she got out of her taxi on Broadmoore. Somewhere in between, she'd been changed. Clark frowned, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and began scanning the sidewalk for any sign of the crystal Nancy had mentioned.

About fifteen minutes later his sharp eyes spotted something on the edge of a curb amongst the ordinary litter you'd normally expect on a city street. It was elongated and clear, but as Clark honed in his vision he noticed it had the dark, sooty look of a blown-out lightbulb. He glanced around, waited for a car to pass by before he stooped and picked up the crystal.

As soon as his fingers closed around it a chaotic memory flashed through his head. He saw himself shoot like a bullet into the scout ship . . . he landed on the floor of the cockpit, where Zod sat in the commander's seat with a shocked, horrified look on his face. He heard Zod bellowing at him.

"If you destroy this ship, you destroy Krypton!"

Clark clenched his teeth as the menacing voice echoed again through his head. He straightened, studying the crystal intently. The jagged metal hanging from it was unmistakably familiar. It looked just like the grey, unearthly metal that formed the ancient scout ship. The ship was back in the Arctic; he'd managed to fly it away from the wreckage of Metropolis and hide it in the polar regions where even the American government couldn't easily track it. If he could get the crystal there, see if the old computer systems would recognize it . . . he might get the answers Nancy needed.

That would take a while, though, way too long for him to leave Nancy by herself. Clark slipped the crystal into his pocket; then he found a quiet alley and in the safety of its darkness shot up into the sky.

He needed to pay a visit to Metropolis before he headed back to the forest.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Lois Lane let herself into her apartment and started pulling off the old blue jeans and oversized hoodie as soon as she slammed the door shut behind her. Undercover work was her favorite method for getting a scoop, but it wasn't as easy as she'd made it sound to Perry. All she'd confirmed, so far, was that Nancy Jones was a real person, that she lived in the suburbs of Minitropolis, and that she still lived with her parents and two siblings. That was it.

Lois knew she could do better than that. Not only that, but she was determined to find out more than just surface details about this superwoman before she got a chance to talk to ClarkKent. This wasn't just professional curiosity she felt towards this case. She and Clark had defied alien invaders only a few months before. If Nancy Jones was indeed another Kryptonian threat, then Lois needed to find out the truth about her. Not so she could use it for an article, but so she could better help ClarkKent fight whatever disaster Nancy Jones might cause.

The old clothes, at least, kept Nancy Jones' nervous neighbors oblivious to the fact that they were in the presence of the Daily Planet's most well-known and intrepid reporter. They readily answered her nonchalant, mildly curious questions about their young neighbor who, Lois gathered, was a mild-mannered young woman whose parents were upstanding citizens. Lois had been able to duck in and out of the little pockets of distressed citizens, listening to their conversations, taking discreet notes, snapping a few covert photos of the damage with her iPhone.

She'd even gotten within striking distance of the Jones home, but the yard was covered with TV reporters with their stiff smiles and colorful microphones and enormous cameras. Lois looked on them with mild contempt. There was something more sophisticated about being a newspaper reporter; those TV people could be downright obnoxious.

But finally, as darkness fell and it didn't look like the Jones family was going to make any kind of appearance, she retreated back to her apartment. After an afternoon in the crisp late-winter air, the place felt oppressively warm. Lois slung her clothes over her arm and went to her bedroom, threw on a pair of pajamas, pushed open her window. Lois could see nothing but the flat wall of the apartment building next door, but the cold air coming in felt refreshing. She plopped down on the bed with her back to the window, pulled out her laptop, and began making her strategy for tomorrow.

But seriously, what was the point of strategy when you knew the very person who could give you all the answers? Part of Lois scolded herself for wanting to use Clark as an information mine. But even if he didn't want her to publish what he knew, he could at least satisfy her personal curiosity and fear that the planet might be under some kind of invasion again.

"Come on, Clark, show yourself," she muttered out loud. "The least you could do is at least tell me whether she's a friend or a foe . . ."

"She's a friend, Lois. You can set your mind at ease there."

Lois gasped and jumped to her feet so fast, she almost dropped her laptop. Clark Kent stood in front of the open window, one hand on the knapsack strap on his shoulder, the other hand pushing his thick-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He grinned wryly at her startled reaction and looked like he was trying not to laugh outright.

"You—are—so—BAD!" Lois hissed.

"Well, YOU ought not sit with your back to an open window," Clark retorted, raising one dark, expressive eyebrow. "Be thankful I resisted the temptation to sneak up and tickle you from behind."

Lois tried not to laugh at that and failed; the sound she produced was somewhere between a snort and a giggle. Clark's smile widened and he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her like it was the thing he'd wanted to do all day. For a few seconds Lois completely forgot about the supergirl.

He abruptly pulled his head back. Lois stood on tiptoe for another kiss, but he laid a hand over her mouth and looked her in the eye.

"I can't stay long," he whispered, smoothing her hair back from her face. "I need your help. You've been keeping up with the news?"

"Of course I've been keeping up," Lois replied dryly. "That's my job, Smallville."

"What do you know about Nancy Jones?"

"Not much. Perry's had me on the case almost all day long—"

"I thought Mike was on it," Clark interrupted. "I saw him at the base."

"Well, yeah, he is, but Perry wanted me to find out more about . . . about her. Who she is, WHAT she is." Lois laced her fingers behind his head and gave him a long, hard look. "Is she Kryptonian, Clark?"

He hesitated, lowered his eyes. She felt his big, strong hand slowly run up and down her back. Lois swallowed. His prolonged silence boded nothing good.

"No," he finally said, slowly. "She's not Kryptonian. But . . . but something made her LIKE a Kryptonian. According to her, it's this."

He unwound one arm from around her and pulled an elongated object from his pocket. Lois reached out to touch it; Clark jerked it back, closing his fingers over it with a look of alarm.

"No, don't touch it! I don't know if it still has any of its . . . power, or electricity, or whatever it is. I've got to take it to the Fortress. I think it came from there."

"But she found it in Minitropolis?" Lois asked, skeptical. "The scout ship crashed in the middle of Metropolis, Clark—and you took it away within a week of the battle."

He shrugged. "It was damaged. Some of the wreckage might've gotten swept up with the rest of the mess. Maybe this fell out of a garbage truck that passed through Minitropolis. I don't know and that's not my foremost concern right now. What I'm concerned about is getting the computers in the Fortress to scan this thing and tell me exactly what it is, and why it affected that girl the way it did."

Lois nodded, understanding. "Okay. So why do you need my help?"

Clark drew a deep breath. "She's scared, Lois. As far as I can tell she's got all my powers, just in diluted form. When I was little I had to deal with all the sensory overloads and learn how to control my vision and hearing . . . but I was able to learn it all gradually, and with my parents' help. This girl's had it all thrown at her in a single day. She doesn't know how to deal with it and to be honest, I'm not exactly sure that I'm cut out for dealing with . . . with . . ."

"Female emotions?" Lois offered wryly.

He flushed, embarrassed. "I'm glad you said it and not me."

Lois smirked. "I'm getting the picture. You want to help her, you even know how to train her to deal with these powers—but she's upset and scared and you don't know how to handle a package of female tears and tantrums. Right?"

"Wellllll . . . that's part of it. But she's also hurt. When she ran away from the military a couple of hours ago she fell off a mountain and broke her foot—"

"That's ALL she broke?!"

Clark raised an eyebrow. "She's like me, Lois: it takes a lot to hurt her. I left her in a cave but she won't be able to walk much for a couple of days, at least—and while I go to the Fortress I need someone to look after her. Someone who can keep her company and make her smile and keep her from getting too depressed. Someone who knows me pretty well and . . . "

"You want me to go, don't you?" Lois interrupted.

He gave her an earnest, pleading look. "Could you?"

Lois bit her lip and thought hard for a moment. Perry was expecting her to stay out of the office tomorrow anyway; she was still supposed to be undercover. And technically, she WOULD still be on the case. She'd be within inches of Nancy Jones. And she could probably gather enough of the story to satisfy Perry and still protect whatever info Clark and Nancy wanted to keep secret.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Yeah, I could go and I will go."

Clark suddenly relaxed—she hadn't realized how tense he'd become talking about this—and gave her a quick, hard kiss. Lois wrenched her head free and laughed.

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're overjoyed and overcome with relief and thanksgiving," she teased.

He smiled, a broad, bright smile. "Well, there's another reason I wanted you to be the one to stay with her for a while."

"And what's that?"

"Nancy needs to meet the one person who's living proof I can love someone with all my heart without breaking her like a toothpick."

Lois blushed, slipped her arms from his neck. "No, I've never been afraid you'd do that. Hang on a minute and let me put on some warm clothes. I'll be ready in a jiffy."

0o0o0o0o0o

"General Swanwick, we understand you called off the search at Superman's order," the President of the United States said. He, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the highest officers of the army were gathered around a conference table on the military base, and General Swanwick felt like he was on trial. He cleared his throat, folded his hands on the table.

"Yes, sir, I did."  
The president frowned. "General, the United States doesn't take orders from aliens."

"The United States, sir, had no problem taking orders from him when the world was at stake," Swanwick retorted before he could stop himself.

"The WORLD was at stake," the president snapped. "We're talking about an American citizen here, this Nancy Jones. Superman will not be allowed to interfere anymore, am I clear?"

"Mr. President, I hope you're gonna tell me how to make sure he DOESN'T interfere. It looks to me like Superman has more control over this situation than we do right now. And to tell you the truth, whether I like to admit or not," he added with a bit of an irritated growl in his voice, "it was mighty reassuring to know someone wasn't scared of that girl."

The president glanced at the Joint Chiefs, and they met his questioning gaze. One of them, an admiral, drew a long, loud breath.

"We're developing a way to stop Superman if we have to," he said. "And if he gets too uppity, we won't hesitate to use it."

"Not another drone, I hope," Swanwick said acidly. "You might as well throw twelve million dollar bills down all the toilets in the Pentagon."

The admiral flushed; the embarrassment of Superman destroying one of the military's prized drones—the one they'd sent to spy on him—still stung.

"No, it isn't a drone," he said coldly.

"What is it, then?" Swanwick demanded.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Swanwick looked at each uneasy face and drew up in his seat. There was guilt in the eyes of each of these men. As if they were all contemplating some terrible but necessary evil, and none of them were proud of it.

"I see," Swanwick muttered.

The president narrowed his eyes. "And what is it you see, General Swanwick?"

"That you must have some kind of super weapon to call him to order." Swanwick looked hard at the men around him, and this time a few of them lowered their gazes. They obviously weren't going to tell him what it was, which only made him more uneasy. Monitoring Superman with a drone—that was one thing. But he had a feeling they weren't simply talking about monitoring him . . . this was something more harmful. He could feel it in the guilt that hung over the room.

"Fine," he said, pushing his chair back and standing at attention. "But I want your solemn promise that you won't involve me in any kind of attack on that man."

The president looked surprised. "Why Jim, you were the one acting like you wanted to bite his head off earlier today!"

"Figuratively speaking, yes sir, I did, but . . ." Swanwick stopped, swallowed, clenched his hands. "He still saved the world and I won't have any hand in harming or killing him. I'll leave you to THAT. Mr. President, sirs."

He saluted stiffly and swiveled on his heel. The officers and the president frowned as he jerked open the door, his booted feet stomping angrily as he exited.

0o0o0o0o0

The dog had settled down under Nancy's gentle petting and was now lying beside her, its head down on its paws, its big dark eyes blinking slowly and tiredly. It whimpered every once in a while, but otherwise it seemed to appreciate her and the peace and warmth of the cave.

Nancy leaned her head back against the wall and felt her eyelids starting to droop. For a while she tried to fight her exhaustion, but finally she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. In minutes she felt strangely detached from reality, almost like she was looking down at herself from a great height, and felt herself relax and slump against the wall. Her head lolled to the side—and then she didn't know anything else. For the first time in hours, she was sound asleep, her hand still on the dog's head.

The sound of footsteps through her earmuffs jolted her awake. Nancy lifted her head with a gasp. The fire had died down to faintly-glowing embers, leaving the cave dark and chilly, and in the cave opening two silhouettes blocked the night sky. Nancy's mouth went dry. She kept stock-still, hoping the intruders couldn't see her through the darkness, and felt the dog go stiff under her hand. It let out a low, defensive growl.

"Nancy?" a familiar voice called in alarm. "Nancy, are you all right?"

Oh thank God . . . it's only him. "I'm—I'm here!" Nancy cried.

A flashlight clicked on and the beam hit the cave ceiling without shining into her sensitive eyes. Nancy squinted and saw a tall, broad man in old blue jeans and a sweatshirt rush towards her, clenching the flashlight in one hand and a heavy-looking knapsack in the other. A young, pretty woman in more stylish jeans and a fleece jacket followed him, holding her own flashlight and shining it deliberately at the ceiling. Instinctively Nancy drew back, bewildered and frightened—and then she did a double-take.

"Oh my gosh," she gasped, staring at the man. "I—I didn't recognize you at first."

Superman froze in his tracks at the sight of the dog. He thrust one arm out and the young woman behind him bumped right into it. She didn't step any closer, though.

"Stay back, Lois," Superman whispered.

Nancy's chest tightened with hurt. Was he afraid she might harm the woman? But then the dog's growling reminded her: Nancy and Superman were the only ones in this cave the dog couldn't harm. The young woman—Lois, he'd called her—she wasn't invulnerable. If the dog decided to bite her . . .

"Shh, shh, it's okay, fella," Nancy whispered, trying to soothe the dog. She looked pleadingly at Superman. "It's just hurt and scared. I don't think it would attack her unless she tried to touch it."

Superman nodded, lowered his arm slowly, and approached. The dog stiffened against Nancy's arm but didn't lunge. Superman got down on one knee, unzipped the knapsack, pulled out several sandwiches covered in plastic wrap. Nancy's stomach growled, but she kept silent as he unwrapped one sandwich and handed half of it to the dog. Immediately the dog relaxed and ate hungrily. Superman smiled and handed another wrapped sandwich to Nancy.

"Thanks," she whispered, with a sidelong glance at the young woman. Nancy wasn't sure she wanted to eat in front of a stranger. "Is . . . is everything all right?"

"Everything is going to be fine now that I've got a plan," Superman said, pulling a rolled-up ace bandage and a bottle of what looked like Tylenol from the knapsack. "I want you to meet Lois Lane, from the Daily Planet. If anyone knows how to keep a secret, it's Lois—and I'd trust her with my life."

"Nice to meet you," Lois Lane said, offering her hand. Flabbergasted, Nancy took it, suddenly aware of her own filthy hands and yet also aware of the ink stains on Miss Lane's fingers. Of course she recognized the world-famous reporter's name. Suddenly a whole lot of things started making sense . . . Miss Lane had fought General Zod with Superman, everyone knew that, and she must be the girlfriend he had mentioned.

"We need to wrap up this foot before we do anything else," Superman said, unwrapping the bandage. "Lois, could you look through that pile of firewood and find the two straightest branches? We'll brace her leg and then wrap the bandage around the sticks, that way she won't be able to move it much."

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," Miss Lane said firmly, marching over to the firewood.

"Where'd you get your friend?" Superman asked, motioning with his head towards the dog.

Nancy glanced down at her canine companion, who still eyed the strangers suspiciously but no longer growled after its dinner. She petted its head gently. "It just walked in, not long after you left. It's got a hurt foot but I bandaged it up—and look, I could do it without even hurting it all over again!"

Superman smiled, nodded. "You focused on the task at hand and restrained your strength. That's what I've been trying to teach you all day long. Now you've got proof you can do it."

True, Nancy thought, elation rising up in her chest.

Miss Lane handed him two fairly straight branches, then she reached into the knapsack and, to Nancy's surprise, whipped out the huge crimson capeSuperman had worn most of the day. She bunched it up and set Nancy's swollen foot on top of it like it was a pillow. Nancy glanced at Superman to see if he resented that impressive piece of material being treated in such an undignified fashion, but he didn't seem to mind. Together they positioned the sticks against Nancy's leg and then Superman began wrapping the bandage around her foot. Miss Lane met Nancy's gaze and gave her a reassuring smile. Nancy returned it a little wanly, still wary and yet trying to relax. After all, if Superman could trust this woman, then she could, too.

"Did you find the crystal?" she demanded as soon as Superman fastened the bandage. At her question he sighed, reached into his pocket, and held out the very same object she remembered picking up this morning. Nancy drew back, fearful, at the sight of it.

"I don't think it's active anymore, but we won't take any chances," he said, putting it back in his pocket.

"Do—do you have any idea of what it is?" Nancy asked nervously.

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I know where it came from, at least. It looks like it's part of the Kryptonian ship that I use as my . . . my 'Fortress of Solitude,' I like to call it. It's up in the Arctic." He lifted his blue eyes and fixed them on her. "Don't tell anyone about that. It's one of my secrets and I'm only telling you because I trust you."

Nancy nodded, wide-eyed, wondering what she'd done to deserve his trust. "Okay. But how did it get to Minitropolis?"

"The Fortress crashed in Metropolis during the battle five months ago. It was badly damaged and I think the crystal—whatever it is—was broken off from some part of the ship. I won't know everything until I take it up to the Arctic and have the computer systems identify it."

"When are you gonna do that?"

"Tomorrow," he said. "Or rather, today . . . this afternoon, after I get you settled. But I don't want to leave you alone while I go up to the Arctic. In fact, I don't want to leave you in this cave. It's too close to the military base and I don't really trust them to leave you alone."

Nancy frowned. "But where else can I go? I can't go home, everyone will know I'm there and—and I can't go back, not while I'm learning to, you know . . . live normal life without hurting anyone. I bandaged a dog's foot, sure, but that's not quite the same thing as hugging my mom or making breakfast for my little brother, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Superman said gently. "But I want you to re-learn those things where you'll be safe and comfortable. The best place I can think of is my home, in Kansas."

Nancy's eyes widened. Kansas? That's where he grew up?

"My mom's used to super-powered individuals, you might say," he added with a chuckle. "She wouldn't be afraid of you. In fact, she could probably offer you more help in some areas than I could. She taught me everything I know about focus."

"Oh, but I don't want to impose—"

Superman shook his head. "You wouldn't be imposing. I'll call her as soon as I've found out what's going on with this crystal. I'm positive she'll be happy to let you stay with her for a while. If you make good progress, we might even be able to bring your mom out to see you."

Mom. Nancy's breath caught and she felt a wave of loneliness sweep over her. She looked away quickly so he wouldn't see her struggle with her emotions.

"And in the meantime," Superman continued, "Miss Lane will stay here with you."

He said this with a long, stern look in Nancy's direction, almost like he expected her to argue and didn't intend to fight with her about it. As for Nancy, her heart jumped into her throat and she glanced nervously at Miss Lane. The journalist, however, looked completely unfazed; she sat on the floor with her arms wrapped around her bent knees, her eyes fixed calmly on Superman. She had obviously known this was coming.

Superman rose to his feet and laid a hand on Nancy's shoulder; the stern expression faded from his eyes. "I'll be back in the morning, I promise—and tomorrow you're going to sleep in a real bed, and get something more to eat than a sandwich."

"And then I'll know what happened to me?" Nancy demanded. "You'll figure out what happened and if you can change me back?"

He nodded. "I'll have answers. Keep practicing. And try to make friends with Miss Lane—I think you'll find she's a very likeable person as long as you don't insult her writing abilities."

Miss Lane laughed, stood up, brushed off the back of her jeans. "Have a good trip, Clark."

Clark. So that was his name. Nancy's eyes widened for the second time in five minutes, and then she found herself raising her eyebrows in even greater surprise as he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Miss Lane's lips. There was no mistaking the love in his eyes as he looked at her. An achy feeling settled in the pit of Nancy's stomach. It would be nice to be loved like that. To feel confident that she'd be able to show affection like that without hurting someone else.

"See you again in the morning, Nancy," Superman said, slinging the knapsack over his shoulder again with a reassuring smile. Then he was gone, flying out of the cave in the ordinary clothes and headed north.


	8. Chapter 8

The massive Kryptonian scout ship lay at the top of an Arctic plain, half-covered with snow and blending in remarkably well with the bleak plain. From the air, it looked like nothing more than an impressive rock formation—which had been the specific intention of the person who put it there five months ago.

Clark moved swiftly down the narrow, high-ceilinged corridors towards the command room in the center of the ship. Gone were the old civilian clothes; they were wet and cold with the fine, hard snow that had driven into every cotton fiber on the flight over here. Now he was back in the Kryptonian suit. The only sound besides his own heavy, booted footsteps on the metal floor was the snapping and whipping of the long cape as he swerved around a corner.

A massive captain's chair stood in the center of the circular command room, the walls of which were lined with blank computer screens. Clark approached the computer terminal on one wall and pressed a few buttons. Immediately the room lit up like a Christmas tree; there was a loud whir of an engine and computer processors, and then every screen came online, displaying the ship's various systems. A slow, glad smile crept over Clark's face. The ship—his last connection besides the suit to his home planet—was alive.

"All systems operational," a computerized female voice called out. "You may proceed."

Clark opened his clenched hand and slipped the crystal underneath a microscope-like machine. "Scan and identify," he said in a clear, commanding voice.

"Order received . . . please hold," the voice replied.

Clark backed away as a beam of bright, blue-tinted light shone down upon the crystal. Under the intense light the thing, which had looked pretty lifeless before, started glowing. He frowned and took a seat in the big captain's chair, waiting and watching the computer screen connected to the scanner keenly. Rows of Kryptonian glyphs he didn't understand raced across the screen.

I'd better hope the computer's going to give me a detailed audio explanation, he thought, because I won't be able to learn a thing if all it gives me is that writing.

The blue beam abruptly shut off and the microscope plate shot out, as if offering the crystal back to him in distaste. "Object identified."

Clark leaned forward in the chair. "All right, what is it?"

The screen blinked. "Labor Development Systems, sir."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

The computer didn't respond. Apparently it depended on him to dicipher the lines of alien code. Clark stood and warily removed the still-gleaming crystal from the microscope plate. He didn't like the sight of it. There was something menacing about it now . . . as if its danger to unprotected humans had been revived. Clark barely resisted the temptation to set it on the floor and grind his heel into it.

Not yet, not yet, he thought . . . gotta figure out what this Labor Development System is . . .

"Activate the ship's authority system," he ordered.

"Primary or back-up, sir?"

Clark set his teeth. The first time he'd turned on this ship only a few days after the devastating Battle of Metropolis and tried to summon his father's preserved consciousness, he'd been rudely greeted by an antagonistic A.I. system Zod installed when he stole the ship from where Clark had hidden it here in the Arctic. The general apparently deleted Jor-El's hologram from the ship's command system and put in its place an artificial intelligence loyal only to him, still determined to carry out his orders.

Thankfully the system, like the rest of the ship, had been seriously damaged during the battle. Clark was able to shut it down before it tried to ram the whole mangled ship into yet another nearby skyscraper—but the experience scared him. He'd worked hard in spite of his woefully-limited knowledge of computers to delete Zod's A.I. system and retrieve what he could of his father's hologram. So far he'd gotten most of the hologram back from the computer's enormous memory drives.

"Primary or back-up, sir?" the computer repeated.

"Back-up," Clark said firmly. He still needed to figure out how to delete that "primary" option.

"Order received, please hold," the computer said again.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made him turn around, and Clark saw a glitchy hologram image walking slowly towards him. Bits and pieces of it disappeared and came back again as it moved, but still, even with the vanishing pixels and the constant crackle of static, there was no mistaking Jor-El's face or voice.

Clark drew a deep breath. It didn't matter to him that this representation of his father was nothing more than a highly sophisticated artificial intelligence system. It still responded to him, still answered his questions . . . and Clark knew he wasn't imagining the deep affection in the man's grave, bearded face every time Jor-El laid eyes on him.

To his surprise, however, his father wasn't smiling this time. He stood there in the doorway, his hands folded at his waist, his brow furrowed so deeply it reminded Clark of plowed-up cornfields in Smallville.

"You are researching the Labor Development System," Jor-El said. "Why?"

Clark approached him quickly, holding out the crystal. "We found this, a few miles from Metropolis. It—"

"It is far too dangerous for the people of Earth for you to tamper lightly with it," Jor-El cut him off sharply. "Don't let your power go to your head, Kal. It will destroy you as surely as it destroyed Zod."

Clark stared at him, stunned. His father had never spoken to him so sharply. Ever.

"That—that's the farthest thing from my mind, I swear."

"Then why are you researching it?" Jor-El demanded.

"Because a young human woman found this." Clark again held up the crystal, was glad to see his father's deep blue eyes focusing intently on it. "It changed her. She's become like us: she's strong, she's fast, she has my hearing and x-ray vision . . . she even has the laser vision. And according to her, this thing is what changed her from a regular human girl to a—a Kryptonian."

Jor-El sighed. "There was only one thing I feared as much as Zod retrieving the Codex . . . and it was that he would use this on the humans."

A sick dread settled in Clark's stomach. Jor-El slowly began to pace the circular room; Clark fell into step beside him, listening and determined not to miss a single detail.

"When the Kryptonians would invade other planets, they would transform the planet first with  
the help of the world engines," Jor-El said quietly. "The people of those planets would be killed, of course. It was a ruthless, bloody system . . . you know all too well how it nearly happened here."

Clark nodded, remembering the horrible nightmare where Zod had shown him a devastated Earth and a sea of skulls.

"Not all the inhabitants were killed, however . . . not always," Jor-El continued. "Sometimes, if our government deemed them worthy, they were spared to become laborers. But they couldn't survive under the Kryptonian atmosphere. So our foremost scientists developed a system by which these survivors could be given some measure of Kryptonian strength. It would help them adapt to our environment, while still leaving them slightly inferior, physically, to us."

Clark lowered his eyes, the realization beginning to dawn on him. "I see . . ."

"As I said, it was a ruthless system—cold-hearted and unjust," Jor-El said firmly. He glanced at the crystal still in Clark's big, strong, hand. "That was part of the machine. You will find the others in the back of the ship, not far from the Genesis Chambers. The unfortunate slave, torn from a beloved home, was forced to sit still while a Kryptonian scientist subjected him or her to a painful electrical shock that would infuse Kryptonian DNA into his or her body. Although it helped the slaves adapt to the environment right away, it wasn't always an easy adjustment. They rarely knew how to control their own newfound strength and often did harm to themselves."

"Is there any way to reverse it?" Clark asked.

"No . . . none, " Jor-El said, sadly. He looked his son in the eye. "You are a symbol of hope and courage, Kal, not tyranny. Promise me you will never consider using this on the people of Earth."

Clark met the older man's eyes steadily. "I'm not like Zod, Father. You know that. If I'd wanted to take over Earth I would've done it a long time ago."

Jor-El's face softened. He raised his hand as if to touch his son—then drew his hand back again. Clark's chest tightened. He knew the hand would've gone right through him. Jor-El might look real, for the most part . . . but in the end this was still only an image. The spirit of his father was present, Clark was convinced of that—but he could only speak through the hologram.

"Your human parents raised you well," Jor-El said softly. "You are a good man, Kal."

Clark swallowed, decided to get the subject off himself again. It would probably be better for both of them at this point.

"All I needed to know, when I came here, was if I could help my friend or not," he said. "You're telling me I can't reverse what's happened to her. That's fine, that's what I needed to know. I think I can teach her how to adapt and control her powers, the way I learned to . . . but I need to know if there are more of these crystals out there."

"I pray not," Jor-El said fervently. "You must be vigilant."

"This had to have broken off in the crash," Clark said, studying the crystal again and turning it over in his hands. "And the only way it could've possibly gotten into Nancy's town would've been from a garbage truck . . . maybe the crystal crashed through one of those windows, landed in the street, got swept up . . ."

Jor-El shook his head. "You haven't considered another possibility. What if someone else, a human of Metropolis, entered the ship before you flew it back to this icy wasteland?"

Clark jerked his head up. Before he could say the horrible thing that had just entered his mind, Jor-El said it for him.

"Go to the Labor Development chamber for yourself, Kal. There are no more crystals. They have all been torn out of the wall."

0o0o0o0o0o0

The busy intersection was covered in a thick, shimmering fog but Nancy could still make out the street signs above her head. Main and East. Main and East . . . she was back in Minitropolis! She was almost home. A few more strides and she'd be walking up the driveway and James would be there on his scooter waving at her . . .

A horn blared at her on her left, but it sounded more like an elephant bellowing directly into her ear. Nancy jumped, screamed in fright. She whirled and saw the car heading straight for her. There was no time to run. Nancy squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself.

The car hit her legs. Nancy expected to feel a searing pain and hear the grotesque crunch of broken bones—but instead she heard crumpling, groaning steel. She opened her eyes and gasped. The front of the car looked like crumpled Coke can in a recycle bin.

Before she could react the car doors opened with some difficulty. Dad staggered out of the car and Mom followed suit from the passenger side. They looked stunned from the wreck, but as soon as they recognized Nancy their faces broke out in relieved smiles.

"Nancy!" Mom cried, running towards her. "Oh Nancy, we were so worried!"

Nancy's eyes burned with tears. She couldn't even say her mother's name. She could only mouth it and rush around the front of the car towards her, arms outstretched, her whole body aching for a long, hard hug and her mother's voice whispering comfort into her ear.

Mom's arms went around her and Nancy's went around Mom—and Nancy squeezed. She heard a sickening crack as her mother's ribs gave way and then . . .

"Nancy! Nancy, wake up. You're dreaming, Nancy, open your eyes."

Nancy's eyes popped open and she gasped. Someone was shaking her shoulder. She flopped over onto her back. A surge of pain in her foot at the sudden movement made her cry out. Miss Lane jumped back—but only a few inches.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a soft but wary voice. Her blue eyes were bigger than ever and Nancy noticed she was poised rather stiffly, as if ready to jump back even farther if Nancy decided to lash out at her.

"I—I'm okay," Nancy whispered. Miss Lane reached forward but Nancy waved her off, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her foot felt tight in the bandage and she pointed shakily at it.

"It hurts—bad," she moaned. "I think the bandage is too tight."

"Okay, let me loosen it," Miss Lane said, boldly moving in front of Nancy's foot. Nancy stared at her. This woman had to know Nancy could kick her against the opposite wall if she wanted to, and yet she didn't act that scared at all. Miss Lane started undoing the splints and the ace bandage; in the dim light provided by the fire and the coming dawn, Nancy saw that her whole foot looked rather like a purple balloon.

"Cl—Superman said it would only take this a few days to heal," Miss Lane said, running her hand up and down Nancy's foot. Her skin felt cool against Nancy's. "I have to rewrap it so it'll stay immobile, but I won't do it so tightly this time, okay?"

"Okay," Nancy murmured. She was trying hard not to cry. That pain medication she'd taken before she drifted off to sleep a couple of hours ago obviously wasn't kicking in. Probably another side effect of being half-Kryptonian.

"So," Miss Lane said as she set the splints again, "how old are you, Nancy?"

"Umm, nineteen," Nancy said, swiping hastily at her eyes.

"Are you in school?"

Nancy shook her head.

"Brothers or sisters?"

Nancy gritted her teeth. "Are you interrogating me, too?"

Miss Lane glanced up and raised her eyebrows. "I'm just trying to make pleasant conversation, Miss Jones. We don't have to talk at all if you'd prefer."

Nancy's conscience cowered a little under Miss Lane's curt tone and she lowered her eyes. Miss Lane finished wrapping the bandage and gently set the injured foot down again. That's when Nancy glanced around and sat up a little straighter in alarm.

"Where's the dog?"

Miss Lane cocked her head sympathetically. "I didn't want to wake you, but he left about an hour ago. I suppose he—or she, I couldn't really tell—had its own den to take care of."

"Oh," Nancy murmured. "I'd kinda hoped he would've stuck around."

"You did an excellent job taking care of HIS foot," Miss Lane said, standing up again and patting Nancy's shoulder.

Nancy took a deep breath. "Well . . . you're doing a good job with mine, too."

Miss Lane laughed. "Well thanks. My medical experience is somewhat limited but at least I've seen a few army medics set broken bones."

Nancy looked up in surprise. "Are you in the military?"

"Oh no, no," Miss Lane said quickly; she tossed another wrapped sandwich in Nancy's direction from the pile of supplies taken from Superman's backpack. "No, I'm not in the military—but my father is. I grew up on military bases my whole childhood. And then I've been embedded in a few army divisions as a reporter over the past few years. I'd had my fair share of scary situations even before the Battle of Metropolis."

Nancy studied the peanut butter sandwich before taking a bite. This was the third sandwich she'd had since Superman left the cave and she was still starving. She suspected her metabolism had skyrocketed over the past twenty-four hours. She took a big bite and then another before she'd even finished chewing the first one.

"Did you know Superman before the battle?" she asked, her mouth full.

Miss Lane smiled, hugged her knees to her chest. "A little. Not very well, but a little. Just out of curiosity . . . what do you think of him?"

Nancy was a little startled by the question. She adjusted her earmuffs and swallowed her food hard, thinking back over yesterday's events. Through all the chaos and terror, at least there'd been one island of calm and assurance. Superman had never freaked out, even when Nancy was in hysterics, punching holes into walls, or burning the front of a cabinet with her new laser vision. Okay, he HAD seemed a little startled by that last one—but he still hadn't lost his cool.

And he still seemed to have faith in her.

"I like him," Nancy said. She met Miss Lane's eyes and managed to smile. "Everyone else treats me like I'm some kind of human Godzilla getting ready to wreck my whole hometown, but he doesn't. And you don't, either," she added, narrowing her eyes at the reporter. "Aren't you scared of me too?"

Miss Lane ran a hand through her long, reddish hair. "Do you think I should be?"

Nancy stared at the half-eaten sandwich in her hands. "I don't know. I'm too scared of myself at this point. I mean . . . at the base, I couldn't even slap the side of my cot without it breaking. I stared at a cabinet and the next thing I knew I had lasers shooting out of my eyes. And in the supermarket I . . . I almost killed a police officer. So what's going to happen when I go home—if I can EVER go home? What happens if I try to turn on the TV? Am I going to bust the remote control? Or if I want to fry up some eggs for my little brother? Am I going to try to crack the shell and smash raw egg all over the kitchen?"

"You can re-learn all those things," Miss Lane said with a firm nod of her head. "That's what Cl—I mean, Superman, wants to take you to his home in Kansas. He and his mother can teach you how to do everything all over again."

Nancy cut her eyes at her. "And what happens when I see my mom again for the first time and go to hug her? Am I going to break all her ribs?"

Miss Lane said nothing and lowered her eyes to the smooth, grey floor of the cave. Nancy looked at the sandwich again. It lay lightly between her fingers. She exerted what she considered the slightest bit of pressure, and suddenly her fingertips met, squishing through the bread, peanut butter, and grape jelly. Nancy gritted her teeth and pulled her fingers out of the mess before Miss Lane could see what she'd done.

"You're not going to break all her ribs," Miss Lane suddenly said quietly.

"How do you know?" Nancy snapped.

"Because even though you haven't gone through much training at all yet, I know that when you see your mother you'll be focusing on every movement. You love her. You don't want to hurt her. That doesn't mean you won't be able to touch her or kiss her. It just means you'll have to be more aware of yourself."

"It'll never be the same," Nancy said mournfully.

"Maybe not, but it doesn't mean you have to become a hermit or an outcast." Miss Lane scooted a little closer and looked Nancy in the eye. "You want to go home?"

Nancy nodded slowly. "More than anything."

"Then you'll let Superman teach you. He's a good man, I promise. You can trust him. He's gone through all this before and he cares, he knows how it feels." Miss Lane's earnest face softened and she touched Nancy's leg. "And if you're worried you'll never be able to hug and kiss your family ever again . . . just remember, you're looking at the woman who's been hugged and kissed by Superman more than a few times over the past five months."

In spite of herself, Nancy had to smile. "And you haven't been hurt yet?"

Miss Lane smirked. "The worst thing that's happened yet is that he stepped on my toes when I tried to get him to dance a few weeks ago. He's a terrible dancer."

Before she could stop herself, Nancy burst into a fit of giggles. Miss Lane's smirk broadened into a girlish smile and she covered her mouth to smother her own laughter—just as the impressive figure of Superman himself appeared in the mouth of the cave. He was back in the blue alien suit and the red cape, but still carried the knapsack over his shoulder; he raised an eyebrow at them and set a hand on his hip.

"What are you two laughing at?" he asked, clearly amused.

"Nothing, nothing," Miss Lane said, wiping the smile almost completely from her face. She sat up very straight and folded her hands in her lap. "Nothing you'd find funny, anyway."

"Mm-hmm," he muttered, running his hand over the back of her head with undisguised affection and a smile. Nancy pressed her lips together to keep back another explosion of giggles. It was just too hard to look at him now and imagine him trying to dance with Miss Lane. She pulled the straightest face she could as he knelt down beside her.

"All right, Nancy," he said quietly. "I know what it was that changed you."

Suddenly it wasn't hard at all to keep a straight face. Nancy pushed herself into a better sitting position and looked hard at him. "Okay. What happened?"

"I have to explain some of my history first," he said, raising his hands in a gesture for patience. "The Kryptonian ship that General Zod tried to steal from me and that I crashed in Metropolis in order to stop him, had two different chambers in it. One was a Genesis Chamber. That's where my people would breed new citizens for our planet." Superman hesitated, added in a quieter, slightly embarrassed voice, "My people frowned upon . . . upon natural reproduction."

"Sex," Miss Lane said bluntly. "He means sex."

Superman flushed and glared at her; Miss Lane rolled her eyes and mouthed, "Sorry." Nancy bit the inside of her cheek to keep back a smile.

"Anyway," he went on, "the other chamber was for what they called 'the Labor Development System.' My people would sometimes go to neighboring planets and turn them into smaller versions of Krypton, through planetary engineering. That's what Zod tried to do to Earth, he tried to turn it into a second Krypton. The Kryptonians would then take a small portion of the original inhabitants of these transformed planets and genetically modify them so they could tolerate the new Kryptonian atmosphere."

"Why?" Nancy asked. "Wouldn't it just be easier for your people to wipe them out?"

Superman sighed and ran a hand through his hair; he clearly wasn't proud of his ancestors' brutal achievements. "They hoped to use these people as slaves. It wouldn't do them any good if the inhabitants couldn't survive under ideal Kryptonian conditions. So they'd hook them up to these machines that would infuse enough Kryptonian DNA into them to strengthen them."

Superman reached into the knapsack and produced the crystal. To Nancy's horror it glowed, just like it had done yesterday morning when she first picked it up. It didn't seem to affect him, but she noticed Miss Lane draw back, startled.

"Under normal circumstances this thing would make a non-Kryptonian a few degrees weaker than his or her masters, but still strong enough to withstand the heavier Kryptonian gravity." Superman glanced over his shoulder at the rising sun. "But in a world where a full-blooded Kryptonian soaks up the energy of a much younger sun and becomes a superman . . ."

"A modified Kryptonian becomes a slightly-weaker supergirl," Nancy finished in a whisper.

He glanced back at her, his blue eyes grave. "Exactly."

Nancy pressed her lips together. "Okay. Can we fix it?"

Superman shook his head. "No, Nancy. It's permanent."

Nancy drew in a ragged breath. The word "permanent" felt like an eighteen-wheeler had just hit her in the gut. Not that that would hurt her very much in a real-life setting now, probably, because she was a supergirl. She was only a few degrees weaker than Superman himself. On his world, she would be ready for slavery. A good, strong, hearty laborer with no choice but to work her tail end off for people who'd twisted her home planet into whatever the Kryptonians wanted  
it to be. It was a harrowing thought.

"I'm not like them."

Nancy looked up with a start. Superman had spoken, and his voice was sharp, firm, and angry. He rose to his feet and looked down at Nancy with hard, flashing eyes.

"I am not like them," he repeated. "If I could reverse what's happened to you, Nancy, I would. If I could undo all the cruelties my people committed against other planets and against this one, I would. But I can't. All I can do is try to fix the damage they've done and warn the people of this planet not to make the same mistakes Krypton did."

He stepped back a safe distance from Nancy and Miss Lane and dropped the glowing crystal. It clattered to the floor at his feet. Nancy watched, wide-eyed, as Superman set the heel of his red boot on top of it and pressed hard. There was a smash of glass and then a pop and a flash of light, like when an electric bulb goes out. Superman's jaw clenched and he ground his heel even harder into the broken glass until the crystal was nothing more than a bit of powder on the floor of the cave.


	9. Chapter 9

Nancy spent her second day as a super-powered human in the cave. As the day wore on the cave grew warm until Superman finally put out the fire and helped her hobble towards the opening, where she could sit and let the cool wind blow against her face. She knew he and Miss Lane were making plans, but for once she didn't care that she didn't really have much say in them.

By three o'clock, however, they held what Miss Lane called their "war council." The three of them sat in the opening of the cave, sharing a big bottle of water that Superman had filled in a creek far below them. Nancy swung her good leg over the edge of the cave and listened carefully while her companions explained the plan.

"As soon as it gets dark, I'm bringing Miss Lane back to her place in Metropolis," Superman said. "It won't take me much time at all. Then I'm coming back here and I'll take you to my mom's house in Kansas. That's where you'll stay at least until you're functioning well enough for me to bring you back to the military base to prove to them that you're not a threat to society."

"Okay," Nancy said, smothering her nervousness at that last point. "How long do you think it'll take for me to learn how to hear and see and . . . and just act normal?"

Superman drummed his fingers on his knees thoughtfully. "I don't know. Hopefully no longer than a couple of months. It'll be like going through hospital rehab after a major surgery. The harder you work the better off you'll be."

"She'll work hard," Miss Lane said, flashing Nancy a confident smile. Nancy returned it as best as she could without seeming more sure of herself than she really was.

"And then," Superman added, "once Miss Lane gets home, she's going to make a phone call to your mother. She'll tell your mom exactly where you'll be . . . and if your mother is willing, she can come and stay with you."

Nancy's mouth fell open. She glanced at Miss Lane for confirmation. Miss Lane gestured with her head at Superman.

"I told you you could trust him," she said. "He's not pulling your leg."

"You think it's safe?" Nancy blurted out.

Superman nodded, smiling gently. "I wouldn't let her come if I didn't think it was safe."

As soon as darkness began to fall, Miss Lane was ready to go. Before she left, however, she took off her fleece jacket and wrapped it around Nancy.

"Your sweater's torn from bandaging that poor dog's foot," she explained. "You'll want to look just a little bit nicer when you walk into Martha Kent's house. She keeps that place sparkling."

Nancy smiled a little nervously. "Thanks, Miss Lane."

"I'll come and visit soon, I promise." Miss Lane rubbed her arm gently. Nancy suddenly wanted to hug her—but then her chest tightened fearfully and she kept her arms close to her sides. She forced a smile and waved as Superman scooped Miss Lane up in his arms and flew away.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Don't let her feel too sorry for herself," Lois whispered as soon as Clark set foot on the rickety fire escape on the back of her apartment building. "Otherwise she'll start withdrawing from everybody. I think Nancy Jones has a lot of potential but she's just like you . . . she'll beat herself up for weeks if she feels like her best effort isn't good enough."

Clark laughed as quietly as he could as he set her on her feet. "I beat myself up?"

Lois smiled gently and crossed her arms over her chest. She smelled like wood-smoke and she hadn't had much more than a few hours of sleep since Clark brought her to the cave the night before, but as far as he was concerned, she looked beautiful.

"Yes, you beat yourself up," she whispered. "All the time. Which is why you need me to remind you that the world isn't over just because you make a mistake or because some idiot in some LexCorp skyscraper across town thinks you're to blame for an alien invasion."

"Let's hope Melanie Jones is as good for Nancy as you are for me, then," Clark said, pulling her close. Lois' smile looked tired now and she rested her head against his chest for a brief embrace before he had to leave.

"I love you," she murmured. "And I've never been so proud of you as I was when you crushed that crystal. Although I must say . . . I had half a mind to touch it myself."

Clark glanced down at her, startled. "What? Why?"

"Because." To his surprise, her voice sounded choked and she kept her face hidden from view. "Do you ever think it might be more . . . practical . . . for you to have a magnificent, super-powered girlfriend?"

Clark reached up, cupped her face in his hands, tilted her head back. She met his gaze steadily but the question was there in her pretty, dirt-smudged face and it hurt him to think she'd be feeling this way. He kissed her gently and then drew back, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

"I don't want a magnificent super-powered girlfriend," he murmured. "The one I already have is magnificent, and she's the most important reason I have to fight for this planet. I love her and wouldn't have her any other way. Are we clear on that?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded, her tired eyes glistening a little.

"Besides," he added with a dry smile, "I don't think I could handle you if YOU got my powers. I'd probably find myself backhanded into next week."

Lois started laughing—which was exactly what he'd hoped for. "Go on, Smallville. Tell your mother hello for me. I'll try to come see Nancy over the weekend."

0o0o0o0o0

Nancy waited anxiously for Superman to return from Metropolis. To pass the time she hobbled around the cave, trying to pick up the last of their supplies and erase the evidence that she'd been here. If General Swanwick decided to revive the search she really didn't want him getting any hints about where she'd been or what she'd been doing.

She kind of hoped the dog would come back, too. But there was no sign of him—or her. Nancy wondered if it had been a female, and if it had pups to go home to.

When Superman appeared again he flashed her a warm smile. "Ready to go?"

"Are you sure your mom's gonna be okay with this?" Nancy asked in reply.

He nodded firmly. "I've already talked to her. I told her not to wait up for us, but knowing my mom she'll still be awake."

Nancy felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of someone who wasn't her mother staying up waiting for her. She still didn't even know the woman's name.

She was nervous when they first took off. The only time she'd experienced his flying abilities was when he carried her up to the cave, and that had only lasted a few minutes. This was different. They were much higher up and going at much faster speeds; she was grateful for Miss Lane's fleece jacket, too, because it was far colder up here. She hugged her arms and burrowed deeply against Superman, who didn't seem at all bothered by the temperatures.

"So," she began, "what's your mom's name?"

Even in the dark she could still see him smile. "Martha."

Nancy bit her lip, decided to be a little bolder. "Martha what?"

Superman drew a deep breath and glanced down at her. Nancy didn't even try to look innocent. She knew from her experience with Jack, the young man in the forest, that she was no good at acting. In fact, she was downright rotten at it.

"Her name is Martha Kent," Superman finally said, turning his eyes ahead again.

"I see."

A rueful grin crossed his face. "Yes, I'm sure you see."

"And Miss Lane called you 'Clark.' "

"Yes, she did."

"So your name is Clark Kent."

He glanced down at her again and raised an eyebrow. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

Nancy nodded fiercely. "My lips are sealed."

"Thank you," he said, and she could tell from his tone and from his smile that he really meant it. As for Nancy, a warm, friendly feeling coursed through her. She knew a secret that would probably turn the world upside down . . . and like Miss Lane she had absolutely no intention of betraying it. Ever.

Somewhere along the journey Nancy started to nod off. She tried to fight it but the need for sleep was too powerful. Only when she felt Superman nudge her did she jerk her head up and glance around. They weren't in the sky anymore; the air was warmer and drier, and he was walking slowly and steadily across a grassy yard between what looked like a barn and a white-painted farmhouse. There was a light shining on the porch. Her earmuffs were askew, letting in the loud hum of a heater and staticky voices from a television set inside the house.

"We're here, Nancy," Clark said, rubbing her arm as he stepped onto the porch. "Mom?"

Nancy screwed her eyes open in time to see a tall, spare woman in a bathrobe open the porch door. She had long, greying hair and a kind, weathered face that melted in sympathy as soon as she laid eyes on Nancy.

"Come in, come in," she said, keeping her voice lowered. "No, Clark, don't wake her, she's almost asleep as it is. Right in here, in the guest bedroom."

Nancy was only vaguely aware of being lowered into a soft, clean bed. She knew she was filthy but was too tired to put up any protest at being put to bed in such a state. She felt Mrs. Kent's strong but slender, gentle hands pulling off her shoe—the other one had been safely deposited in Clark's knapsack—and then a warm, heavy blanket was pulled over her body. Nancy buried her face into a fresh-smelling, firm pillow and closed her eyes.

"I think she's asleep," Martha Kent whispered, motioning for her son to follow her out. "Poor thing . . . and you don't look much better yourself. Off to bed. Go on!"

Clark smiled wearily and headed towards the room that had been his as a boy. Both he and Nancy Jones, he knew, were in very capable hands.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

When Nancy woke, the sunlight was shining into her face. Even with her eyes closed she could see it against her eyelids and feel its warmth. She rolled over and groaned—and the next thing she realized as she moved was that she was cocooned in blankets.

The sensation of being confined was momentarily terrifying. Nancy bolted upright, her eyes flying open and her arms shooting out in a desperate attempt to free herself. She heard a loud ripping noise and looked down in horror; the torn blankets fell away from her in a frayed heap.

At that moment a knock on the door startled her. It sounded like someone banging a mallet right next to her ear. Nancy winced, looked around for the earmuffs that must've fallen off in the night; she grabbed them from where they lay next to her pillow, slammed them onto her head, and arranged the blankets so the tears wouldn't be quite so apparent.

"C-come in?" she called.

The door opened and the older woman she'd seen last night—Mrs. Kent, she remembered—peeked in. She smiled when she saw Nancy sitting up.

"Good morning," she said in a calm, quieting voice. "I was wondering when you'd wake up."

Nancy carefully extricated herself from the blankets, moving as cautiously as if she was covered in spider webs and didn't want to break a single strand. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine o'clock. But that's all right, you needed your rest. Hungry?"

Nancy nodded, still a little shy and more than a little embarrassed that she'd slept so late. Mrs. Kent pushed the door open further and motioned for Nancy to follow her. "Come along with me, I'll get you something to eat. How does scrambled eggs sound?"

Nancy forced a small smile that widened as soon as she set both feet on the wood floor. Her hurt foot wasn't nearly as sore or swollen and she found that she could hobble around the end of the bed towards Mrs. Kent without holding onto anything.

"That sounds great," she said. "I haven't had anything to eat lately except for sandwich—oh!"

She lost her balance on the hurt foot and reached out with both hands. Mrs. Kent leaned forward to catch her. Nancy's heart jumped into her throat—no no no, don't touch me! she screamed internally—and swerved, slamming against the door. She grabbed for the doorknob to stop her fall. Immediately it broke off in her hand.

"I—I'm sorry," she gasped, clinging to the door and trying to stand up straight again. "I'm so sorry . . ."

"Oh, well, it's no problem," Mrs. Kent said dryly. "That knob needed to be replaced anyway."

Nancy glanced at her, unconvinced—but Mrs. Kent didn't even glance at the broken knob in the girl's hand. Instead she laid two firm hands on Nancy's shoulders, gently but firmly straightening her, and then without any apparent fear put an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the room and into the kitchen.

"Now you sit down right here," she said, pulling a chair back from the kitchen table. "Just relax, hon. Relax."

Easier said than done, Nancy thought bitterly. She dropped her head in her hands as Mrs. Kent walked to the refrigerator and wondered if this woman would be quite as forgiving if Nancy wrecked her whole house.

"Morning, Nancy! How are you?"

Nancy lifted her head at the familiar voice. Superman—no, she reminded herself, his name is Clark—strode confidently into the kitchen dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt. Without even stopping to wait for her response he walked over to his mother and kissed her cheek; Mrs. Kent smiled placidly and cracked an egg into a skillet.

"Nancy's walking much better today," Mrs. Kent said, grabbing a spatula. "In fact she walked into the kitchen with only a little help from me."

"That's a good sign," Clark said, sitting down across from Nancy and looking at her intently. He smiled, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him. "You heal fast. One of the great advantages to having this gift."

Gift? GIFT?! Nancy's nerves riled at the word and she gritted her teeth. This wasn't a gift, not if she couldn't even touch a door without the knob popping off. But she kept her thoughts to herself and murmured her thanks when Mrs. Kent set a plate of hot eggs in front of her. She reached for a fork, then drew her hand back with a start.

"What?" Clark asked, frowning.

Nancy opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again. She couldn't look at him. "I'll turn it into a twisted bunch of stainless steel if I touch it. I'll eat with my fingers. It's not like the eggs are going to burn me."

"No," Clark said, reaching for the fork, "but you can't eat like a two-year-old for the rest of your life, either."

Nancy glanced up in time to see him twirl the fork between his long fingers. The fork remained the same shape. A slow smile crossed Clark's face as he caught her watching him. He suddenly turned the fork right side up, pressed one of the tines between his index finger and thumb—and pushed down.

Nancy gasped. The tine squeaked and bent to a right angle. Martha turned from the sink and her eyebrows shot up.

"Clark!" she scolded, in the tone of someone who's fussed at her son before about such things.

Clark said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on Nancy. She gulped. Then, without a word, he took the ruined tine between his fingers again and bent it, effortlessly, back into its proper position. Then he switched the fork to his other hand, stabbed a piece of scrambled egg with it, and held it up in front of Nancy.

"Take it," he said, gently, but in a tone that made Nancy hesitate to disobey. "You won't break it if you focus on being careful."

Nancy swallowed hard again and took the fork. She held it so lightly it wobbled between her fingers; she tightened her grip, but only slightly, and brought the fork to her mouth. She took the bite, lowered the fork slowly, caught another piece of egg. Clark watched carefully and Martha took quick glances over her shoulder until Nancy had eaten every bite of egg. When she finally set the fork down, her hands were shaking.

"Good job," Clark said, grinning.

"But I was so scared!" Nancy cried. "Am I gonna have to treat everything like it's made of eggshells? If I'd held it any tighter than that I would've snapped it in two!"

"Focusing will get easier the longer you practice, Nancy," Clark said calmly; he took her empty plate and brought it to the sink for his mother to wash. "You're just going to have to be patient with yourself."

Nancy drew a deep breath. "Okay."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Martha Kent's farmhouse, remodeled after General Zod's devastating attack, had a definite lived-in feeling to it. It was cozy, practical, and homey. Empty cornfields waiting for warmer planting weather could be seen through nearly every window. And on the porch, a couple of hours after breakfast, Martha herself kept herself busy transferring the vivid-colored flowers she'd recently bought from their plastic containers to more permanent, attractive pots.

Martha had no intention of neglecting a guest, but even she knew that one couldn't neglect one's chores. Several of the young plants in the spring garden had caught a minor blight and these little flowers needed to be moved to their new homes. If there was any hope whatsoever of keeping her farm in good condition, even if she was the only one who lived here on a consistent basis anymore, she would succeed.

Besides, Kal-El's Earthly mother had an ulterior motive to being outside. One reason for staying outside, in full view of the house and the driveway, was because she expected company. Lois Lane had kept her promise to Clark and Nancy and called Melanie Jones, letting her know where her daughter was. Melanie Jones, in turn, had called Martha and begged for permission to come and see her daughter. Permission was quickly granted—both Martha and Clark suspected Nancy would do much better if she was reunited with her mother—and she expected to be here sometime before lunch, if she could catch a last-minute flight into Kansas. Martha wanted to be conveniently handy to greet her.

The second reason Martha was outside was to give her son and Nancy a chance to work together. Martha liked the girl, and she could tell Nancy felt comfortable around her. But Nancy remained slightly wary of strangers, especially in regards to her new powers.

Martha didn't take it personally. It was a huge adjustment for the poor girl. She remembered how hard it had been for Clark when he first found out he was from another planet. Sometimes she wondered if she and her husband should've told him the truth when he was much younger. It might've been less of a shock . . . or at least it would've been easier to handle.

Then again, there was probably nothing that could possibly prepare a young man for the fact that he was an alien, adopted by human parents.

Either way, the past was in the past. Clark had not only accepted and embraced his heritage, he'd finally revealed himself to the world in his own way. Yet he still retained his human name, Clark Kent, and his human identity so that he could travel, hold down a job, and have an almost completely ordinary life without attracting notice.

Martha Kent couldn't be more proud of her son. And she was certain that, over time, he would convince Nancy to accept her new nature and find her own place in the world.

That, then, was the biggest reason why she was outside. She wanted to give the girl a chance to learn from the best teacher she could possibly have, someone with whom she had already established a rapport. Nancy couldn't be in better hands.

_

"Are you ready to start practicing again?"

Nancy frowned as Clark strode into the living room and hugged herself, as if protecting herself against the very idea. She'd been sitting here since breakfast, with her foot propped up and a crocheted blanket draped over her lap. She didn't feel like getting up at all, and she certainly didn't feel energized enough to do any of the traumatic exercises he'd put her through yesterday on the military base.

"I don't know," she said, shifting a bit on the couch. "I just feel like taking it easy today."

Clark smiled patiently. "I can understand that, but I really don't think you should put it off."

Nancy looked at him, tilting her head to one side. "Are you in a rush to get me outta here?" she asked, half-teasing.

"No, of course not. Mom said you can stay here as long as you like. But—" and here his pleasant face grew more serious "—the sooner you start, the easier it will be for you to do normal, everyday tasks besides eating breakfast."

"Like . . . ?"

Clark settled down on the couch at her feet and rubbed his chin. "Well, there are a lot of things you'll need to be careful with. Can you iron your own clothes without crushing the iron? Can you walk and run without damaging flooring or sidewalks—not to mention, can you do all that without going into extraordinary speeds?" He glanced at her earmuffs and smiled wryly. "And I don't think you'll want to live the rest of your life looking like you have Princess Leia hair."

Nancy shuddered. "Can't I just keep them?"

"Why would you want to keep them?" he asked gently.

"Because!" Nancy cried, then stopped, took a deep breath, controlled herself. "Because . . . it . . . HURTS. The noise. I can't think straight when it feels like every noise in the whole universe is hitting me every second."

He nodded, his blue eyes sympathetic. "I understand. Believe me, I do. But you need to learn how to focus your hearing, the way you've already started to master your eyesight. And the sooner the better."

Nancy cocked her head. "Why?"

"Because," Clark answered with another amused smile, "my mother is going to help you take a shower when we feel you're ready."

Suddenly self-conscious, Nancy brought a hand to her hair. It felt greasy and rough with tangles. Not only that, but she was still in the torn, filthy clothes she'd worn since she left home yesterday morning, and even though she'd washed her hands in the kitchen sink there was still dirt underneath her fingernails. She shuddered to think what her face looked like.

"The water will make a constant sound, and it may be loud," Clark said quietly. "But it'll be a good step in the right direction. Plus—"

"My Mom's coming," Nancy murmured, finishing his thought.

He nodded and Nancy swallowed. Her mom was coming. Nancy had a definite feeling that Melanie Jones would be horrified if she saw her daughter looking like this. The last thing Nancy wanted was for her mom to worry about her anymore than she probably already was. Nancy set her teeth and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the couch.

"Okay," she said. "I'll take a shower, just help me walk over there—"

"Hold it, hold it," Clark said, laying a firm hand on her shoulder. "Before you rip those earmuffs off and take on the bathroom, let's practice taking them off slowly and focusing. I want you to tune out everything but my voice. Don't listen to your heartbeat or mine or Mom on the porch or  
the pickup truck that's rattling down Main Street ten miles away."

Nancy hadn't even picked up the truck's engine and she looked at Clark in surprise, but he had moved past all that. He reached up and removed the earmuffs from her head. Nancy's ears immediately started ringing. She winced, but rather than cover her ears with her hands she clenched her fingers in her lap.

"Focus, Nancy," Clark said.

"I'm trying," she whispered.

"Look, here's what I'll do." He rose, grabbed a folded newspaper from the coffee table in front of them. "This is yesterday's paper, but who cares. Let's see . . ."

A slow grin overspread his face and he glanced up towards the screen door in the kitchen. "I didn't know my mom had subscribed to the Daily Planet."

Nancy scooted a little closer, interested. "Isn't that Miss Lane's paper?"

"Yes—and the paper I write for as well."

Nancy let out a surprised laugh. "Wait—you're Superman AND a journalist?"

Clark smiled, but didn't answer that question directly. He merely glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Remember, you're sworn to secrecy. How are you doing?"

Nancy's eyes widened and she gasped. She'd held an entire conversation without the earmuffs. The noise was still constant around her—the creak of the floorboards, the wind outside, the rustle of her clothes against the heavy upholstery of the sofa—but her attention HAD been honed on her companion. Clark smiled in approval and began reading, in a calm, steady voice, from the newspaper.

Over the next half hour, Nancy practiced until her head ached. Sudden, louder noises—like Martha slapping the bottom of a plastic flower container on the porch—still made her jump and clap her hands her ears. Clark, however, simply read on. It didn't matter what he was reading. Nancy didn't particularly care about the stock market or some political unrest in some country on the other side of the world. All she had to do was focus on his voice and ignore every other sound.

In a way that felt familiar. She'd done similar things before, like when James was a baby and she had to ignore his endless crying while Mom comforted him. The only way to finish her homework was to ignore the noise.

Finally Clark lowered the paper and Nancy spoke up. "I'd like to try a shower now. But don't call your mom. I think I can handle it on my own."

He looked surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Nancy said a little stubbornly. "Come on, let me try. What's the worst I could do, pop off a bathroom fixture?"

He raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm, but stood up anyway and offered her a hand. Nancy took it and leaned heavily against him, but he showed no discomfort at the strength of her grip. At the bathroom door she let go and hopped inside. A sudden thought came to her; she whirled, wagged her index finger at him.

"No peeking," she said.

"I won't, I promise," he said quickly and firmly. "Be careful."

And with that he pulled the door closed.

Nancy sat down—very carefully—on the closed toilet and took off her torn clothes. Then she maneuvered herself carefully into the shower and sat down. It was very quiet in here. Even without the earmuffs, the noises around her were considerably less.

"Okay, Nancy," she whispered. "You can do this, you can do it, it's just a shower . . ."

She touched the knobs with her fingertips, not trusting a firmer grip, and twisted ever so slightly. A steady stream of hot water dumped on her head and blared in her ears, deafening her. Nancy gasped both from the sudden, welcome heat but also from the roar. Niagra Falls couldn't be this loud.

But she gritted her teeth, forced herself into a standing position, and mentally ordered herself to deal with it.

The water that flowed over her turned a nasty brown as she lathered shampoo into her hair and scrubbed herself with a cloth. The noise, oddly enough, became more bearable if she pretended it was just one of Rachel's friends turning up the radio too loud.

"Make them turn it down Rachel," she kept growling under her breath. It helped maintain the illusion and keep her focused. "Mom's gonna throw her out if you don't turn it down…"

She just hoped Superman—Clark—wasn't listening. Though he probably was… she tried not to think about that. How funny that he was a journalist with the same paper Miss Lane worked for! Who would've ever thought . . .  
Nancy grunted as she hobbled out of the shower, taking care not to press too hard against the walls when she reached out to them for balance. She wasn't interested in busting a hole in Mrs. Kent's bathroom wall. That was when she noticed something that hadn't been there before. A long, fuzzy pink bathrobe hung from the door handle, ready for use.

Nancy stared at it, then narrowed her eyes, suspicious. She dried herself off with a towel and wrapped her hair up in it, turban-style, before slipping into the robe. Somebody had been thoughtful enough to realize she wouldn't want to slip back into the clothes she'd been wearing while she was dirty. And Clark was the only one who knew she was in here.

Well . . . she just hoped he hadn't peeked. Hopefully he kept his eyes closed when he leaned in to hang the robe on the doorknob.

A sudden thought came to her. Nancy closed her own eyes. She couldn't see anything except for the normal amount light she normally saw through closed lids. Good. That meant, as long as a full-blooded Kryptionian couldn't see through their own skin, she could trust that he wouldn't see anything so long as he had his eyes shut.

Besides, he'd promised her he wouldn't. She had a feeling he wasn't the kind of person to go back on his word.

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, she found Clark back on the sofa, still reading that paper. When he saw her coming out, he immediately tossed it aside and came toward her, ready to help. Nancy appreciated it, grasping his hand again but forcing herself to walk more certainly this time.

"So," she asked, "do you peek on Lois when she's in the shower?"

He looked down at her and his eyebrows shot up high in his forehead. "Do I WHAT?"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Nancy said quickly, trying not to giggle. Part of her regretted saying that aloud, but she couldn't really help it. And he didn't dignify her question with any further response as he matter-of-factly got her settled again on the couch.


End file.
